


Spiegel im Spiegel

by sahiya



Series: Spiegel im Spiegel [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Christmas, Concussions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark Coparenting Peter Parker, Morgan Stark Needs a Hug (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Multiverse, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark are Siblings (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is alive in lots of universes, do not copy to another site, i promise Tony is actually in the fic, not a tag i use much, universe hopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28307661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: "Ah HA!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “So the multiverseisreal! Rhodey and I used to argue about that at MIT, but I never thought I’d actually win the bet. Though it might be a little tough to collect on it now. Unless... does this universe have a Rhodey? Does this universe have ame? Can I meet myself?”“This universe does indeed have a Colonel James Rhodes,” Strange said. “And it also possesses its own version of yourself. But no, you can’t meet him.”“Why not?” Tony demanded. “Would it implode the universe? Destroy the space-time continuum?”“None of that. You cannot meet him because this universe’s Tony Stark has been dead for fifteen months.”
Relationships: James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Tony Stark, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Pepper Potts & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Spiegel im Spiegel [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149116
Comments: 186
Kudos: 582
Collections: Irondad and Spiderson Secret Santa 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grace_d](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_d/gifts).



> Whew. It's been a hot minute since I posted anything, but here I am. It's become a cliché to say good riddance to 2020... but also, good riddance to 2020. 
> 
> But one of the things that DIDN'T suck about 2020 was getting to know Grace_d! I was so glad to get you in this year's Secret Santa, and I really hope you enjoy this multiverse-romp-with-coparenting. 
> 
> Many thanks to whumphoarder and Fuzzyboo, who beta'd and brainstormed and helped me fix what wasn't working this fic. The title translates to "mirror in mirror" and refers to an [infinity mirror](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Infinity_mirror). It's also the title of a beautiful piece of [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TJ6Mzvh3XCc). Fans of _The Good Place_ will recognize it from the series finale.
> 
> The first chapter is a little light on the Irondad, but I promise it's coming.

Tony closed his eyes in bright June sunshine. He opened them to a bitterly cold wind and the sting of snowflakes on his face. 

He was on his back, staring up at what should have been blue sky with the occasional puffy cloud. Instead, the clouds were dark and ominous, blanketing the sky as far as Tony could see. 

He sat up. His head was aching something fierce. “Well. Shit.”

“Anthony Edward Stark,” someone drawled from behind him. “Why am I not surprised?”

Tony shoved himself to his feet and turned to face whoever it was head on. He stopped, blindsided by recognition. “Stephen Strange?”

Strange arched an eyebrow. “You know me?”

“Damn straight I know you. You had my heart in your hands less than a year ago. Literally.”

“I see.” Strange regarded him, unsmiling. Tony blinked, taking in a few details. The Strange he knew wore a white coat or surgical scrubs and an impenetrable air of smug superiority. This one wore a cloak... though the air of smug superiority was just as strong. 

“What is the last thing you remember?” Strange asked him. 

Tony had to think for a moment. “SHIELD had asked me to run some tests on a piece of alien tech. I took it up to the roof of the tower, just in case it exploded on me. I’d just gotten the damn thing to turn on when there was a flash of light and I felt like I was falling. Then I was here. Which is... where?” Tony glanced around. He was on a rooftop of a building that was maybe four or five stories tall. He could hear the telltale sounds of a city, and it felt like New York in a way that he couldn’t quite quantify. But when he looked up, the skyline was completely different from what he expected to see. 

“What day is it for you?” Strange asked, ignoring Tony’s question. 

“June 6th, 2021.”

Strange nodded. “Here it is December 10th, 2024.”

“Wait, what? Did Fury’s stupid gadget throw me into the future?”

“No,” Strange said. “It threw you into a different universe altogether, one where time moves slightly askew from your own.”

“Ah HA!” Tony exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “So the multiverse _is_ real! Rhodey and I used to argue about that at MIT, but I never thought I’d actually win the bet. Though it might be a little tough to collect on it now. Unless... does this universe have a Rhodey? Does this universe have a _me_? Can I meet myself?”

“This universe does indeed have a Colonel James Rhodes,” Strange said. “And it also possesses its own version of yourself. But no, you can’t meet him.”

“Why not?” Tony demanded. “Would it implode the universe? Destroy the space-time continuum?”

“None of that,” Strange replied. “Though I imagine it would be extremely annoying. No, the reason you cannot meet this universe’s Tony Stark is both much simpler and infinitely more complicated.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Okay, Gandalf, enough with the riddles. Just tell me.”

Strange’s mouth thinned. “You cannot meet him because this universe’s Tony Stark has been dead for fifteen months.”

Tony was shocked into silence for several seconds. “Son of a bitch,” he finally said. 

“Quite,” Strange agreed.

***

“I’ll be damned,” Rhodey said. “It really is you.”

“In the flesh, platypus,” Tony said, and found himself seized in a tight embrace. “Whoa.”

“Jesus Christ, Tony, I’ve missed you so much,” Rhodey said, voice tight with emotion. 

Tony patted him on the back a little awkwardly. “It’s good to see you, too.” It was true. He hadn’t seen his Rhodey in a few years. He was busy being Ambassador to the UN, but that wasn’t why, and they both knew it. 

Rhodey let Tony go eventually, wiping at his eyes. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Tony said. “But you know... you know I’m not really _him_ , right?”

Rhodey nodded. “I know that, I do. But God.” He stared at Tony. “You look like him, sound like him, even –– this is going to sound super creepy, but you even smell like him. And I just... I’ve missed you –– him so much. To get back even a little bit of him, even if it’s not for very long –– it’s a gift.”

Tony felt his ears go red. Even after Strange had told him that his counterpart here was dead, he somehow hadn’t expected this much emotion. Not from Rhodey, who had never been all that effusive. “Hmm, yeah,” he said with a sniff. “My presence is a gift. That checks out.”

“Ugh.” Rhodey punched him on the arm. “Asshole. You don’t have to ruin the moment every time.”

“Ahem,” Strange said. “Not to interrupt this very touching reunion, but I can’t stay indefinitely.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He was ringed by the golden portal he’d chivvied Tony through, to dramatic effect. _Deliberately_ dramatic effect, Tony was pretty sure. 

He was starting to think that Stephen Strange was a diva, no matter what universe he was in. 

“So what’s the plan?” Rhodey asked Strange. “I assume you’re going to try to send him back to his own universe.”

Strange inclined his head. “I will try, but to be honest, it may not be possible. The wormhole he fell through closed behind him, and travel within the multiverse is more art than science. It is... imprecise to say that least.”

“Are you saying this might not be temporary?” Rhodey asked, glancing at Tony. 

“I’m saying I’m not sure yet.”

“Strange.” Rhodey paused, glancing again at Tony. “Stephen, there are people ––”

“I’m aware.”

“This is spinning my head around, but the others –– Peter is just barely ––”

“I know, Colonel. Give me a few days.”

“All right,” Rhodey agreed reluctantly. Strange turned away to step back through the portal, but at the last second Rhodey said, “Wait! What can I tell him?”

Strange’s eyes flicked briefly over to Tony. “Everything.”

“Everything?” Rhodey repeated, eyebrows raised. 

“You may as well,” Strange said. “Either he will return home and the knowledge will be moot, or he’ll stay here, in which case he should know whose shoes he’ll be expected to fill.” With that, Strange swept through the portal. It winked out of existence behind him. 

“I’d forgotten what a charming bedside manner he’s got,” Tony muttered. He turned to look at Rhodey and saw that he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “You okay there?”

“Am I okay? I’m not the one stranded in another universe,” Rhodey said, dropping his hand. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. This is just... it’s a lot. You seem like you’re handling it weirdly well, though.”

Tony shrugged. He probably should have been more upset at the idea that he might never see his home universe again, but the truth was that he didn’t feel much more than a vague pang of regret. He didn’t know that he really wanted to explain to Rhodey –– to this Rhodey, who clearly was still mourning the Tony he’d lost –– just what a mess he’d made of his life. 

“All right,” Rhodey said. “Do you drink?”

“Not for a few years now.”

Rhodey looked pleased. “That’s great, Tones. Uh... do you mind if I drink?”

“Not at all,” Tony said, gesturing magnanimously to Rhodey’s own kitchen. “Lead on.”

Rhodey poured himself a scotch and made Tony a cup of coffee using a pour-over system that seemed very fussy but did result in excellent coffee. “I actually took this from your workshop after you –– after he died,” Rhodey said, when Tony said as much. 

“I made coffee one cup at a time in my workshop?” Tony said skeptically. “I’d think that would be way too time-consuming. I brew it by the gallon when I’m working.”

“Our universe’s Tony had cut back a lot on both coffee and booze,” Rhodey said, seating himself at the breakfast bar. He had a yellow legal pad and a pen in front of him. 

“Huh.” Tony couldn’t quite believe it. Booze, sure, but caffeine? He’d had to give it up briefly after his heart surgery and he’d thought it might kill him all on its own. 

“So, I’d like to get a handle on where things diverge for us,” Rhodey said, once Tony had claimed the other bar stool. “I’m gonna ask you some questions. They might seem weird, but just go with it, okay?”

Tony nodded. “Sure. Shoot.”

“Did we room together at MIT?”

“Yep. Until you finished your Master’s and abandoned me.”

Rhodey’s lips twitched. “You were always such a drama queen about that.”

“ _Just_ that?”

Rhodey snorted. “Fair point.” His expression sobered. “What does December 16th, 1991 mean to you?”

Tony frowned, thinking. He’d have been in his final year at MIT. That was the year he’d come home for break, only for his parents to fuck off to Bermuda. But the date itself drew a blank. “Nothing.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened briefly. “Are your parents alive?”

“No. Howard died in a plane crash in 1994. Maria died of cancer in 2001.”

“Okay.” Rhodey made a note on his pad of paper. He looked up. “Who’s Obadiah Stane?”

“Howard’s business partner. Currently rotting in federal prison for trying to have me murdered.”

“Did that happen in Afghanistan?”

“Yep. Spent three months captive until you found me.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened again. “I found you?”

“Yep. Came in guns blazing. It was hot as hell –– the desert, but mostly you, honeybear.” 

Rhodey didn’t even miss a beat, more’s the pity. Tony wondered if it was too much to hope for a universe where Rhodey was at least a _little_ bi. “What’s an arc reactor?”

“Energy source,” Tony said. “I invented it to keep my heart beating, and then I used it as the basis for all of Stark Industries’ new green energy technology when I got us out of the weapons biz.”

Rhodey nodded. “What about Iron Man?”

This time, it was Tony’s turn to be surprised. “How do you –– I never told anyone about Iron Man. Except Yinsen, and he’s dead.”

“You never finished the suit?”

Tony shook his head. “No. You found me first. I played around with it some when I got home, but all it ever gave me was two cracked ribs and a concussion. Why?” he asked sharply. 

Rhodey reached for his phone. He swiped at it a few times, then held it up for Tony to see. 

It was him –– this universe’s him –– in a red and gold armored suit. His exposed face stared off into the distance, jaw set in determination. It was the cover of a magazine, Tony realized. The headline read: _TONY STARK IS IRON MAN!_

“I was... a superhero?” Tony said slowly. 

Rhodey nodded. 

“Well, that’s... unexpected. For me, I guess. Not for you.” Tony stopped talking, aware that Rhodey was watching him. He wondered how much of what he was feeling showed on his face. He’d been trained from an early age to have a very good poker face, but Rhodey had always been able to see right through it. 

And truthfully... he was envious. He had given up on Iron Man, but his counterpart in this universe hadn’t. Tony wondered if he could have been Iron Man, too, or if this universe’s Tony was just smarter, braver, _better_ than him. 

“I just have a couple more questions,” Rhodey said, setting the phone down. “You ready?”

Tony cleared his throat. “Born ready.”

“Who is Pepper Potts?”

“She’s the CEO of my company,” Tony replied. “And my friend, I guess. Married to Happy Hogan.”

“ _Happy_?” Rhodey said, looking truly flummoxed for the first time. 

“Yeah.”

“Did the two of you ever date?”

“What, me and Happy?”

Rhodey’s eyebrows went up. “Uh, well, sure, but I actually meant you and Pepper.” 

“Oh. No.” Tony hesitated. “There was a time I thought... but it didn’t work out, and it’s better that way. Pep is amazing. She deserves someone dependable. Someone who can be a real partner for her.”

Rhodey was watching Tony again, eyes gone soft and a little sad. “And that’s not you, Tones?”

Tony snorted. “No. I think I’ve fully debunked that idea by now.” He sniffed. “How many more of these?”

“Just two. Steve Rogers?”

It took Tony a second to realize the name was the question. “Captain America, right? He’s been dead since the ‘40s.”

“Okay. And last but not least... Peter Parker?”

Tony shook his head slowly. “No idea.”

Rhodey made one last note on his legal pad, capped his pen, and sat up. “Okay.”

“Did I pass?” Tony asked jokingly. 

Rhodey didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. He looked Tony dead in the eye. “I’m gonna tell you everything now. It’s gonna be a lot. If you need to take a break or anything, just let me know.”

Tony squared his shoulders. “Lay it on me, honeybear. I can take it.”

Rhodey did. And he was right, Tony realized quickly. It was a lot.

***

Later that night, staring up at the ceiling of Rhodey’s guest room, Tony couldn’t decide what was more incredible: that he’d been a superhero or that he’d had _kids_.

The rest of it was weird, but Tony had done enough work for SHIELD (Was it a Hydra front in his universe, too? It seemed like that was something he’d have to investigate, if Strange was able to send him back) over the years to know that there was more in heaven and earth than was dreamt of in his blah blah blah. But he’d never imagined he had what it took to be a superhero. He was the tech guy, a _consultant_. He didn't play well enough with others to ever be part of a team. 

And he had never wanted kids. He’d assumed he’d be just as bad as Howard had been at it. The idea that he’d somehow acquired two –– one the old fashioned way and one decidedly not –– was mind-boggling. Not to mention scary as fuck. 

There was no way he could ever be the man this universe expected Tony Stark to be. If he was stuck here, it might be better for him to dye his hair, change his name, and move to Patagonia, instead of trying and failing to fill the boots of a guy who clearly had things figured out in a way that Tony never had. The last thing Tony wanted was to taint the memory of his other self. He’d given everything, and he deserved to be remembered for it. 

Maybe it wouldn’t matter, Tony thought, rolling over to bury his face in his pillow. Maybe Strange would send him back to the other universe and he could just forget about this one. In a few months, it’d all seem like a weird dream. 

Still, he couldn’t help thinking right before he fell asleep. It would have been nice to know there was someone missing him even half as much as this universe seemed to miss its Tony. 

***

“The chances of successfully sending you back to your home universe are so small as to be impossible to measure,” Strange declared unapologetically three days later. Three days that Tony had spent lazing around Rhodey’s apartment, reading internet gossip and news from a different universe. 

“Really?” Rhodey said. “That’s it?”

“When our Tony Stark wielded Thanos’s gauntlet, it fundamentally changed the nature of the multiverse,” Strange said, giving Tony the stink eye, as though this was in some way his fault. “Traveling the multiverse has become infinitely more complicated since then.”

“Is it possible you’ll figure it out in a week or two?” Tony asked. 

“No,” Strange said. “If I do, I’ll be in touch. But it’s unlikely. I suggest you make yourself at home here.”

“And that’s... okay?” Rhodey asked. “It’s not going to cause a bunch more problems in the multiverse?”

“No. I find your presence here grating,” Strange said to Tony, “but that’s nothing new.”

“Love you, too,” Tony said, and blew Strange a kiss, earning himself a roll of the eyes as Strange stepped through the portal. It closed behind him, and Tony was left looking at Rhodey. 

“Well,” Rhodey said after a moment, “guess you’re staying.”

“Guess so.”

Rhodey let out a long breath. “I need to talk to Pepper. In person.”

“Wait,” Tony said as Rhodey pulled out his phone. “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

Rhodey frowned. “You don’t want to see Pepper?” 

Tony shook his head. “I’m not _him._ ”

“Tony...”

“No, listen to me. I’m not, all right?” Tony insisted. It was a relief to say the words out loud. He’d been thinking them for three days. “I never became Iron Man. I drove Pepper away with my drinking and my coke habit. I drove _you_ away, too. I didn’t get sober until a judge literally ordered me to. These days I build shit, I stay sober, I consult for SHIELD. Most days I don’t hate myself. But I’m not a superhero, and I’m not a –– I’m not a fucking _dad._ ”

“You never had the chance to be, Tones,” Rhodey pointed out. 

“No, I’m not –– I’m not cut out for it. I’m a mess, Rhodey. I’m a fucking mess.”

Rhodey kept looking at him. And then he did something he hadn’t done since the first night. 

He pulled Tony in and hugged him tight. He didn’t thump him on the back and let him go, either. He _held_ him. 

“What are you ––”

“Shut up.” Rhodey tightened his grip on Tony. “ _You_ listen to _me_. I get it. I get that you aren’t him. I get that this is all messy as fuck. But you’re more like him than you know. You take your coffee the same way. You call me the same ridiculous nicknames. You have the same wiseass sense of humor. You’re just as bad as he was at doing the dishes without getting water all over the place. You’re just as brilliant. You’re just as broken. You’re just as kind. And God help me, I want Tony Stark in my life any way I can have him, because I love every version of you there is, and I can’t believe the others won’t feel the same way.”

It took Tony nearly a minute to respond. “Jesus, you’ve gotten mushy in your old age,” he said, though the crack in his voice gave him away. 

Rhodey snorted. He stepped back and held Tony at arm’s length. “Seriously, though. If you want to disappear, I get it. If that’s what you want, I’ll help you do it and I’ll never tell a soul.”

“But you hope I won’t.”

Rhodey shrugged. “I guess I’ve gotten mushy _and_ selfish in my old age.”

“Never selfish, Rhodey,” Tony said quietly. “Never.”

Rhodey looked away. “We might have to disagree about that.”

Tony swallowed. _Messy_ didn’t even begin to cover it. No matter what Rhodey said, Tony didn’t think he had much in common with his counterpart here. This was going to end badly once everyone realized he was a piss poor copy of the man they all wanted him to be. It was going to end the way things had always ended –– with him alone. 

“You know, it’s not true,” Tony said, because Rhodey deserved to know the truth. “You don’t love every version of me. My Rhodey and I hadn’t talked in a long time. He said he couldn’t watch me self-destruct anymore, and even after I got sober –– it was just never the same with us. I left the door open for him to reach out, and he never did.” His voice splintered, betraying how gutted about it he was, even after all this time. 

“You left the door open, but did you reach out to him?” Rhodey asked. 

Tony shook his head. “Didn’t feel like I could. He broke off contact. I didn’t... I wasn’t sure he’d want to hear from me.”

“I bet the same was true for him. We’re both stubborn assholes. But I promise you, Tones.” Rhodey gripped his shoulders hard and looked him in the eye. “He never stopped loving you. And I won’t either, regardless of what you decide.”

That made it easier, somehow. “Can I sleep on it?”

“Yeah, of course,” Rhodey said. “Take as much time as you need.”

“Thanks, Rhodey,” Tony said, letting out a long breath. “Hey, can we order pizza and watch _The Big Lebowski_?”

Rhodey laughed. It seemed that in both universes, that had been what they'd done in college when Tony had had a bad day –– if Howard had called and berated him about some bullshit, or if he’d fucked up with a girl (which had happened a lot in those days), or if he’d blown up something he hadn’t meant to. “Yeah,” Rhodey said. “Sounds awesome.”

***

The next morning, Tony stood in the kitchen and watched Rhodey put together a smoothie. The morning light streamed in the window and across the crown of Rhodey’s head, highlighting the gray hair mixed in with the black. Tony thought, with the clarity that usually only arrived in hour thirty-seven of a building binge, _I can’t give this up._

There had never been any real chance that he would. 

“If I want to stay,” Tony said, “what needs to happen next?”

Rhodey glanced up and grinned at him. He looked so delighted by the news. Tony had still felt hesitant, but he started to grin, too. He couldn’t be making the wrong choice if it made Rhodey this happy. If he could, he’d spend the rest of his life making Rhodey this happy. 

He was so caught up that he almost didn’t hear what Rhodey said next. 

“I need to call Pepper.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with way more Irondad content. 
> 
> Thanks again to Fuzzyboo and whumphoarder for beta reading!

Peter crawled in his bedroom window and flopped onto his bed. He hit the spider in the middle of his chest and the suit deflated around him. He shoved it off of him and got to rummage around in his dresser for his warmest pajamas. 

“Cold?” May asked, leaning in the doorway. 

Peter grunted, pulling on a pair of thick socks over his bare feet. “Yeah, the heater in the suit is kind of not working as well as it should.” That was better. He was already feeling warmer in his fleecy sushi pajamas. May had a matching pair. They’d been a Christmas present from Happy the year before. 

May frowned. “I don’t think you should be patrolling if the heater isn’t working.”

“I’m sure it’s just a glitch. I’ll fix it this weekend when I go up to the compound.” He padded out in his sock feet, following the smell of Thai food to the kitchen. A small mountain of takeout containers greeted him –– green curry, eggplant with tofu, pineapple fried rice, larb (of course), and even red curry with pineapple and roast duck. Peter loved the duck dish but they only ever had it on special occasions because it was like $18.

“Whoa,” Peter said. 

“I was gonna plate it up, but you didn’t run down the clock to the last possible moment like you usually do.” May went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of wine from the bottle she’d opened the night before. 

Peter eyed her as she got out plates and silverware. There was suddenly a weird vibe in the room. “You were going to plate it up?” he said dubiously. 

“Yeah, I thought I’d make it look nice.”

“Why?”

“No reason.”

Peter didn’t buy it. “You got red curry with duck.”

“It’s your favorite.”

“Yeah, but it’s only for special occasions. Something’s going on. Oh my God, I’m in some sort of simulation, aren’t I? Are you really May?”

May rolled her eyes. “Honey, yes, I’m really May.”

“That’s exactly what Life Model Decoy May would say.” Peter felt a little delirious. He really hoped he wasn’t freezing to death in some back alley somewhere. “Tell me something only May would know.”

May crossed her arms over her chest. “You wet the bed until you were seven. And not just occasionally, either. We had to buy you special ––”

“Okay, okay!” Peter yelped, putting his hands over his ears. “I had _trauma_ , you know.”

May’s expression softened. “I know. But are you satisfied that I’m not a Life Model Decoy?”

“I guess.” Peter sat down and started dishing up the Thai food. He was still suspicious but he was also starving. “I still want to know what’s going on. Wait, are you and Happy engaged?”

“No, Happy and I aren’t engaged.” May sat down, turning her whole body to face him. 

Peter had been about to take a big bite of green curry and pineapple fried rice, but he set his fork down. He had the feeling he wasn’t going to want anything in his mouth when May told him whatever she was about to tell him. 

“Pepper called me today,” May said. 

If anything, that made Peter more anxious. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” May assured him. “Yes, everything is fine. But... all right. You know how there are multiple universes?”

“Yeah...”

“Well, apparently we have a guest. A probably permanent guest.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “From another universe?”

“Yes. Peter.” May took a deep breath. “It’s Tony.”

Peter couldn’t breathe. For a moment, his senses completely overwhelmed him. He could hear the sound of an insect –– probably another damn roach –– scurrying behind the fridge. He could smell the perfume May had put on twelve hours ago. He could almost taste the Thai food in the air. They’d fried the tofu in sesame oil. 

“Peter, honey, you have to breathe.”

Peter exhaled. His ears were ringing. “I don’t... what?”

“A Tony from another universe fell through a portal and into our universe,” May explained gently. “Pepper said that Dr. Strange doesn’t think he can send him back. He’s been staying with Colonel Rhodes in DC, but Pepper invited them both to the lake house this weekend, and she was wondering if we might like to come meet him.”

“Meet him,” Peter repeated numbly. “But he’s not –– is he –– this isn’t my –– I mean, _our_ Tony.”

“No,” May said. “He’s different. He never became Iron Man.”

“ _What_?” Peter said. “Then –– wait. Did he know me? In his universe?”

May pressed her lips together and shook her head. “No, honey. And Morgan didn’t exist at all there. Tony and Pepper were never together.” She leaned forward, one eyebrow arched conspiratorially. “Apparently, Pepper and Happy are married in that universe.” She leaned back and took a sip of her wine. “Chew on _that_ for a bit.”

“This isn’t funny,” Peter snapped. 

May’s smile vanished. “I know, baby. I was just trying to lighten the mood. This is a little weird for me, too.”

“Well, I don’t want to be lightened.” Peter shoved his chair back from the table and stood up to pace. “You’re telling me that a Tony from another universe who didn’t know me there has just landed in ours and –– and we’re supposed to meet him this weekend?”

“We don’t have to do anything. If you don’t want to see him, we won’t. I understand that this is probably really upsetting and confusing.”

Peter snorted. “You could say that.” He shook his head. His gaze landed on the table, loaded with food. “You thought duck was going to fix this?”

May sighed. “I try not to deliver important and possibly upsetting news to you when your blood sugar is low. I thought we’d have a nice dinner, and then I’d tell you. I tipped my hand sooner than I intended.”

“No kidding.” Peter wrapped an arm around his midsection. He’d been starving and now he was kind of nauseated. “I, um. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Peter...”

“I just need a couple of minutes,” Peter said, not looking at May. “I’m still kind of cold. I’ll be right back, okay?”

May looked worried, but she didn’t stop Peter from leaving the table. 

In the bathroom, Peter stripped off his pajamas. He turned the water up as hot as he could stand it, hotter than he usually liked it, and climbed in. He hadn’t been lying; he was still cold, and his fingers and toes tingled as the blood vessels in them expanded. Something seemed to loosen in his chest, too, as the hot water hit him. He suddenly found himself blinking back tears. 

This wasn’t fair. Peter had just clawed his way back to some new sense of normal after the Blip and Mr. Stark’s death and Beck and the identity reveal that they had eventually managed to discredit with Pepper’s help. He had his weekends at the lake house with Pepper and Morgan to look forward to. May was happy in her job at FEAST and with Happy, and that was kind of weird sometimes but also good. The nightmares had finally started to taper off. His relationship with MJ was rock solid. Ned was as awesome as ever. Things were... things were _good_. 

But he still missed Mr. Stark every fucking day. 

He missed him the way he missed Ben, with a bone-deep ache he knew would never fully heal. But he also missed him in a way that was different from how he missed Ben, because the truth was that he and Mr. Stark had never been as close as Peter wanted them to be. That time on the battlefield was the first and only time Mr. Stark had ever hugged him. Now, knowing Morgan and hearing stories about how Mr. Stark had changed in the years Peter had been gone, he wondered how much different their relationship would have been. 

The ache he felt when he thought about Mr. Stark was tinged with so much regret and longing for something he’d never had and would never have. And now... now May was saying he maybe could have that with _some_ version of Mr. Stark, even if it wasn’t Peter’s Mr. Stark. 

What was he supposed to do with that? Peter tilted his face up to the stream of water, letting it sluice his face clean. What if this new Mr. Stark didn’t like him? What if Peter didn’t like _him_? That was hard to imagine, but Peter wasn’t dumb enough to assume he’d known even ten percent of what there was to know about Tony Stark. 

The water turned cool after twenty minutes or so. Peter turned it off and climbed out. He dried himself off with one of the fancy towels Mr. Stark had given May for her birthday after she’d remarked on how nice the hand towels at the tower were –– six years ago, now, only a few weeks before the Blip –– and put his pajamas back on. 

May was waiting for him at the table. “Better?” she asked. He nodded, but his reddened eyes must have given him away, because she immediately added, “Oh baby –– God, I’m so sorry. If this is too ––”

“I want to meet him.”

May paused. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Peter said, even though he wasn’t totally sure. “Yeah, I –– I think I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” May told him firmly. “Everyone will understand if you don’t want to.”

Peter shook his head. “No, I mean... I mean if I don’t, I’ll always wonder. Maybe I meet him and he’s not my –– our Tony, and I can’t get over that. Maybe it’s just too weird. But I have to meet him to find out.”

“Okay,” May agreed. “We can be flexible, too. We can always come back home if you want to. We don’t have to stay overnight.”

“Thanks,” Peter said. “That helps.” He sat down at his plate. He still felt kind of lightheaded, but he knew that part of that was hunger. May hadn’t been wrong to try to feed him first. He needed to eat something before his blood sugar cratered any further. 

“Hey, is Happy coming this weekend?” Peter asked, once he’d inhaled enough curry to chase away the wooziness. 

May’s smile faded slightly. “No. Happy needs a bit more time to get used to the idea.”

“Oh,” Peter said, surprised. 

“Just because he doesn’t wear his emotions on his sleeve, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them,” May said. 

“Yeah, I know.” Peter moved rice and curry around on his plate, then looked up at her. “But you'll be there, right?”

“Absolutely.” May reached over and pushed the hair out of Peter’s eyes. “Now eat. This cost me a small fortune, and I don’t think you’re supposed to reheat duck in the microwave.”

Peter laughed. It broke the tension, and he shoved a piece of duck in his mouth. It was lukewarm but still delicious. 

***

The lake house was one of Peter’s favorite places in the whole world. It hadn’t been at first. At first, it had reminded him of Mr. Stark’s funeral, and of the whole life that Mr. Stark had lived while Peter had been gone. But he’d kept going up there anyway to see Morgan and Pepper, sometimes with May and sometimes on his own. After his identity was revealed, he’d spent weeks there, and that had cemented his love for the place. 

At some point he’d realized that it wasn’t just that the lake house was peaceful, or that he loved hanging out with Morgan. It was also that the lake house was where he felt closest to Mr. Stark. 

All of this made the pit of dread in Peter’s stomach that got worse and worse as they got closer to the lake house on Saturday morning even more uncomfortable. May kept trying to talk to him, but Peter couldn’t manage more than one or two words in response.

“Honey, you know we don’t have to do this,” May finally said. “Not now. Not ever, if you don’t want to. We can just turn around and head right back home.”

“No, I do,” Peter said, shaking his head. “I guess I’m just worried about how different he might be. But maybe that’d be better than him being so much like my –– like our Tony that I forget he’s not him.”

“Pepper said he’s more like Tony was eight or nine years ago –– a little more lost and unsure of himself, though I guess it’s hard to say how much of that might be getting dropped into another universe. That has to be disorienting.” May glanced at him. “I don’t think either Pepper or Rhodey would have suggested this if they felt like he didn’t share some fundamental essence with the Tony they knew.”

Peter nodded, looking down at his hands. “Did she say how Mo’s doing with it?”

May sighed. “It sounds like Morgan is confused. She understands that he’s not her dad, but understanding that and really knowing it are two different things.” May drummed her fingers on the steering wheel briefly. “She said they’re trying to get Morgan to call him ‘Tony,’ to help with some of that.”

“And because he’s _not_ her dad,” Peter pointed out, a little sharply. 

“Right,” May agreed easily. “I think Pepper is hoping that Morgan might eventually have a relationship with him that’s different from the one she had with her dad.”

“That seems like a lot to ask of a five-year-old.”

“It’s a lot to ask of anyone.”

“Yeah.” Peter swallowed. He didn't know what he was hoping for from this, really. He’d missed Tony _so much_. But if this ended up just being too weird, it was going to hurt all over again. 

They finally pulled into the long driveway at the lake house about an hour later. Morgan ran out to greet them ahead of everyone else. As soon as the car stopped, she came pelting out across the driveway. Peter got out, and she threw herself into his arms. He caught her and tossed her into the air –– gently, of course, but high enough to make her shriek in delight. 

“Heya, mongoose,” he said, hugging her. “Miss me?”

“Yep,” she said, burying her face in his neck. She clung a little harder than usual. 

“You doing okay?” Peter asked, pitching his voice low. May was pulling grocery bags out of the backseat, giving them some space. 

She made a face. “I guess.”

“You have an appointment with Ms. Lydia today?”

“Yeah. Mama made her promise not to tell anyone about you-know-who.”

“What’d she say?”

Morgan shrugged, then rested her head on Peter’s shoulder. “She said it’s okay to feel mad or sad or weird. We did finger paints.”

“That’s good advice,” Peter said. For him, too, he guessed. “You want to come in or play out here?” 

“Play out here.” Morgan wriggled, and Peter set her down. 

“We’ll do a tea party later, okay?” Peter said. She nodded and scampered off in the direction of her tent. 

They left their bags in the car, since it wasn’t clear yet where they’d be staying, but they grabbed several bags of stuff they’d bought on their way out of the city –– bagels and lox and babka and a box of Pepper’s favorite cannoli. 

“Welcome, May, Peter,” Pepper called, stepping onto the porch. “What did you –– oh, you didn’t have to do that,” she said, as she caught sight of the babka box in Peter’s arms. And then Peter stopped hearing anything at all, because right behind Pepper was...

Mr. Stark.

Seeing him again was like being punched in the gut. Peter had known it would be, but he hadn’t expected it to transport him back to the last time he’d seen Mr. Stark. Back to the smell of smoke and blood and ozone. Back to the sight of Mr. Stark, scarred, burned, and dying, right in front of him. 

“Peter?” May said quietly, placing her hand on his shoulder. 

“Hi Peter,” Mr. Stark said, hesitant in a way that Peter’s own had never been. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I ––” Peter croaked. There was a ringing in his ears, and his eyes were full of unshed tears. “I can’t,” he finally managed. “I can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry,” he blurted out. He almost dropped the babka, but he was able to set it down on the steps. He ran across the driveway and down the path, past Morgan’s tent, to the only safe place he could think of: Mr. Stark’s –– _his_ Mr. Stark’s –– workshop in the garage. 

It was only once he was inside, with the door shut firmly behind him, that Peter felt like he could breathe again. The garage was almost untouched by anyone else since Mr. Stark had died. Peter knew Rhodey had come in to get a few things, but otherwise it was just Peter, using it to fix his suit or play around with the web formula on weekend trips. Sometimes he’d chat with FRIDAY or play music, but mostly he just worked in the quiet of his own thoughts. 

Sometimes when he did that, he felt something –– not a presence but an echo. A sense that he wasn’t totally alone, but in a way that was reassuring, instead of creepy. He wished now for that feeling, but it didn’t come. Instead he just sat, sniffling and wiping his eyes and his nose on the back of his hand.

There was a light knock at the door, and then it opened. May leaned in the threshold without crossing over. “Aw, kiddo,” she said with a sigh. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

“No,” Peter said, shaking his head. “No, I just got surprised by some –– some bad memories. That’s all. I just need some time to wrap my head around things.”

May nodded. “Do you want company?”

Peter shook his head. 

“Want me to bring you your suit?”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a relieved smile. “Yeah, thanks, that’d be great.”

May brought him his suit, then went up to the house to join the others. Peter connected it to the computer and asked FRIDAY to start running diagnostics on the glitchy heating system. 

It took FRIDAY almost an hour to find the problem. Peter had thought that it would be an easy fix, but it wasn’t. The issues with the heater were just the tip of the iceberg; according to FRIDAY’s analysis, there was a problem with the main regulatory framework that ran the entire suit. 

Peter swore, sitting back in his chair. This was the biggest repair he’d had to deal with on his own so far. He knew the suit pretty well by now, but it was the sort of thing that Mr. Stark would have walked him through, back in the day. And even though he was pretty sure he could do it on his own, he really wished he had some back-up. 

Peter was still staring at FRIDAY’s report when he was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called. It was probably May. He’d missed lunch by now, and she was probably coming to either drag him up to the house or –– if she was feeling sorry for him –– bring him a plate to eat here. 

It wasn’t May. It was Mr. Stark, holding a foil-covered plate in his hands. “Hey kid,” he said, holding it up. “Consensus was that you might be hungry.”

“Oh,” Peter said. “Um. Yeah. Thanks.”

Mr. Stark came in and set the plate down on a clear spot on the workbench. “I don’t have to stay. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t starve. And to say... I’m really sorry. I know this is hard, and I don’t –– I don’t expect anything from you.”

Peter shrugged. “It’s not your fault it’s hard.”

“No, but... anyway.” Mr. Stark glanced away. “I just wanted to tell you that if you don’t want anything to do with me, I get it. I’m not him. No one knows that better than me.”

Peter saw then what Pepper had meant. He looked younger in that moment than Peter ever remembered his own Mr. Stark being, much less the gray-haired version that had hugged him on the compound battlefield. It wasn’t just the dark hair or that his face had fewer lines. Peter’s Mr. Stark had known who he was, even if he hadn’t always liked himself. This version of him... didn’t. 

It was a lot easier to think of this Mr. Stark as _Tony_ , something Peter had never quite managed before.

“I’ll leave you to your food,” Tony said after a moment, when Peter didn’t say anything. 

“You can stay,” Peter blurted out. Tony turned back, clearly startled. Peter swallowed. “I’m sorry for running away earlier. It... it kind of freaked me out to see you. But I think I’d like to... I don’t know, hang out a bit? If you want?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said. “Yeah. Um... whoa, hey, is that your suit? Rhodey told me you were a superhero.”

“Just a friendly neighborhood Spiderman,” Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But yeah, this is my suit. The heater’s been on the fritz, and it’s December, plus I have this whole thermoregulation issue... anyway, I thought it’d be an easy fix, but it’s kind of not.”

“Mind if I take a look at it?”

“Sure.” Peter moved over, grabbing the plate of food on the way. Pepper’s lasagna, salad, and garlic bread. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since they’d left the apartment that morning. 

Tony pulled up a stool and took out a pair of glasses Peter had never seen before. 

“You wear glasses?” Peter asked. 

“Yeah, since my thirties,” Tony said absently, staring at the data FRIDAY had pulled off the suit. 

“Oh.” Peter moved some of the lasagna around on the plate. “Is that different?”

Tony glanced at him. “I don’t think so. These are his, and the prescription is the same. I didn’t have mine on me when I fell through. But I get the impression he didn’t wear them as often as I do. You might’ve never seen him wearing them.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Right.” It helped, actually. Made him look even less like Mr. Stark. 

“Pepper asked if I would think about shaving my beard,” Tony said, as though he’d read Peter’s mind. “She thought it might help.”

Peter couldn’t imagine Tony clean-shaven. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know. I told her I’d think about it.” Tony glanced back at the screen. “Well, shit, kid,” he said abruptly. “There’s your problem. You got a fried chip.”

“I do?” Peter leaned forward. “Where –– oh.” He stared at where Tony was pointing. “Jeez. How did the diagnostics miss that?”

“My apologies, Peter,” FRIDAY said, though to Peter’s ear she didn’t sound especially sorry. And she didn’t offer an explanation either. Peter frowned in suspicion, wondering if he’d been set up by an AI. Not that there was any easy way to prove it if he had been.

“That’s a pretty easy fix,” Tony said. “At least, I think so. It’s your suit, though.”

“Based on one you made me,” Peter replied, without thinking. He froze. “I –– I’m sorry ––”

“It’s okay, Pete,” Tony said. The use of the nickname made Peter’s throat go tight in unexpected grief. “I won’t hold it against you. He turned on the stool to face Peter directly. “Look, I might not be any good at this –– I frankly can’t believe any version of me _was_ good at it ––”

“He wasn’t,” Peter blurted out. “Not at first,” he amended. “He got better. And I didn’t really know him after Morgan, but I think he got even better. And if he could, I bet you can, too. If –– if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah.” Tony looked away. “Maybe. But I gotta tell you, kid, I’ve made some serious mistakes in my life.”

“So did he. I –– we all loved him anyway.”

“I can tell,” Tony said. There was a weird note in his voice, sort of disbelieving and maybe even... envious? Peter blinked, taken aback by the idea that Tony might envy the life Mr. Stark had had here. 

“Anyway,” Peter said after a single missed beat, “this has all gotta be weird for you, too.”

“Yeah, but...” Tony shrugged. “I think it’s weirdest with Rhodey and Pepper, because I knew them and it’s all ‘through a glass darkly’ shit, you know? But I never met you in my universe. So I think this ––” he gestured between the two of them “–– is less weird for me.”

“Right, yeah.” Peter looked down, scuffing his toe on the floor of the garage. “I’m surprised you wanted to meet me at all.”

“After hearing from everyone about how amazing you are, how could I not?”

Peter looked up, expecting to see that Tony was at least half making fun of him. But to his surprise, Tony looked serious. “Really?”

“You’re a goddamn superhero, kid! Plus, you’re obviously brilliant, and from what Rhodey and Pepper said, you practically ooze sunshine and sweetness out of your pores.”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “Way to make a compliment sound totally gross.”

Tony laughed. Peter’s heart hurt a little –– from grief, but maybe also in bittersweet happiness, because he’d always liked making Tony laugh. He hadn’t laughed often enough, in Peter’s opinion. “What can I say? I never met a moment I couldn’t ruin. It’s a gift.”

Peter wanted to object. That sounded like a joke that wasn’t really a joke. Mr. Stark had done that, too –– made jokes at his own expense that were funny but also kind of sad, because Peter had suspected that he actually believed the things he said. But he didn’t know how to call it out without making things weirder than they already were. So instead he ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck, and said, “Well, I’m glad you wanted to meet me.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” Peter managed a smile, and Tony smiled back, less hesitantly this time. “Want to help me fix the suit?”

“ _Hell_ yes.” 

***

Working with Tony to repair the suit felt familiar. Comfortable. It was easy to sit together, heads bent over the workbench. Tony let Peter do the actual replacing of the chip. His quiet, “Nice work, Pete” made Peter flush with pride, just as it always had. 

He didn’t _forget_. But for a few moments, it seemed to matter less that this Tony wasn’t precisely his Tony. Because working together on an engineering problem was the sort of thing that _any_ Tony and _any_ Peter could do together. The generalities were all there, Peter thought. It was the particularities, the details, that were off. 

With the suit repaired, Peter realized that he’d only picked at the food Tony had brought him. He wolfed down the lasagna –– cold now, but still tasty –– and salad. The garlic bread had gone hard on the outside, but he picked out the soft garlicky middle while asking Tony questions about the universe he’d come from. 

It sounded more peaceful than their own. Tony hadn’t ever become Iron Man because he hadn’t needed to. There wasn’t ever a Chitauri invasion, much less a Thanos. That also meant he’d never met Peter. But that was okay, Peter decided. His reaction to hearing that this Tony hadn’t ever known him in his own universe felt a little childish, in retrospect. It didn’t mean they couldn’t know each other now. 

Once Peter was done eating, they decided to head up to the house. It was starting to get dark as they navigated the path to the driveway. Peter glanced toward Morgan’s tent and saw the glow of a light within. 

“Hey, I’ll see you up there, okay?” Peter said, tilting his head toward the tent. 

Tony nodded in understanding. “Yeah, sure.”

Morgan’s tent was well insulated against the creeping cold, and Mr. Stark had made her a little arc reactor that safely gave off both light and heat. When Peter opened the tent flap, he was hit in the face with a blast of warm air. 

“Hey, mongoose. Did you eat yet?” He was pretty sure she hadn’t been down here the entire time; Pepper would’ve made her come up to the house for lunch. 

“Yeah,” she muttered. 

“Okay.” Peter paused. “Can I come in?”

She shrugged. Peter crawled in anyway. It was a tight squeeze, even though they’d upgraded her tent this last summer to one that could fit both of them. “So, what do you think?” Peter asked, settling on his side, head propped up on his hand. “Tea party? Or maybe coloring?”

She shook her head. Peter took in the set of her shoulders and the way she wouldn’t look at him, and he let out a long breath. “How about a hug, then?”

Wordlessly, she crawled over and climbed into Peter’s arms. Peter wrapped her up tight and rested his cheek on the top of her head. 

“I m-miss Daddy,” Morgan stuttered, voice clogged with tears. 

“I know. Me too.”

“And I d-don’t like... _him._ He looks like Daddy but he’s _not_ , and it makes me feel weird in my tummy. I d-don’t like it, I don’t like it.”

“Hey, hey, Morgan, that’s okay.” Peter pulled away to look at her. “It’s okay that you don’t like it.”

Her big brown eyes, which were so like Mr. Stark’s, were flooded with tears. “It hurts,” she whispered. 

“It hurts me, too,” Peter admitted. 

She frowned. “But... but I heard you. Talking to him.” 

“I know. I think... I think it’s different for me, and for your mom and your Uncle Rhodey. But it still hurts, because I miss –– I miss your dad a lot. And you’re right, this Tony isn’t the same.” Still, a lot of what Peter had loved about Mr. Stark _did_ seem to be there in Tony. He was closer to Peter’s Mr. Stark than he was to Morgan’s dad. Which was a confusing way to think about it, since they’d all been the same person. But on the other hand, people were complicated –– Mr. Stark more than most, maybe. 

Morgan nestled closer. “Will you tell me a story about Daddy?”

“Sure, mongoose.” Peter had to swallow a few times, struck all over again by the unfairness of it all –– that Mr. Stark had spent the first four years of Morgan’s life telling her stories about Peter, and now Peter told her stories about Mr. Stark. 

It’d been a long, draining day, and it was warm and cozy inside the tent. Peter wasn’t at all surprised when Morgan started to doze off. Peter kept his voice pitched low as he told her the story of how Mr. Stark had saved his life at the Stark Expo when he was eight. 

He’d just about reached the end when his phone buzzed with a message from Pepper. _Everything ok?_ she’d written. 

Peter looked down at Morgan, fast asleep now, leaning against him. **Yeah** , he wrote back. **Be up in a minute**. 

Getting Morgan out of the tent while she was asleep took all of Peter’s Spidey skills and then some. She did stir a little when he lifted her to his shoulder, but then she settled down again, face buried in Peter’s neck. He carried her up the path and past the cars parked in the driveway. At the bottom of the steps to the porch, he paused, listening until the buzz of conversation in the house resolved into voices. 

“–– glad you tried?” May was saying. 

“Yeah,” he heard Tony reply. “But I still won’t ever be him.”

“I think Peter knows that,” May said. “And to be honest, Tony made plenty of mistakes along the way with him.”

“So Peter said.”

“I would like it on record that I thought lying to you was a bad idea from the beginning,” Pepper put in. 

“Right. That was the big one,” May said, presumably to Tony. “And I’ll tell you right now –– encourage my kid to lie to me, and I’ll have your hide. Capiche?”

“Capiche,” Tony agreed ruefully, 

“But my point is this –– Peter doesn’t need perfect. Peter needs _present_. And that, Tony was good at, eventually. When he gave Peter his attention, he really gave him his attention.”

It was too cold to keep standing there, eavesdropping, even if Peter had wanted to hear more, and he wasn’t sure he did. He put his foot on the squeaky bottom stair, and the conversation inside the house ceased. 

Pepper met them at the top. “Wow, she’s out cold, isn’t she?” she said, holding the front door open so Peter could come through. He laid Morgan on the sofa, and Pepper tucked her in with the lumpy throw that lived on the armchair. 

“You want some hot chocolate?” Pepper asked him. “Or coffee? I was about to break out the tiramisu.”

“Hot chocolate sounds great,” Peter said, following her into the kitchen. Rhodey, May, and Tony were all seated around the table, with mugs in front of them. There was an empty chair next to May, and Peter claimed it. 

Pepper brought Peter a mug of hot chocolate and sat down with a sigh. “Peter, how do you think Morgan is doing?”

Peter didn’t know why she was asking him, but he sensed she actually wanted an answer. “Confused. Sad.” He glanced sideways at Tony, hesitating, and then added, “I think it’s brought up a lot of... stuff.”

Pepper nodded. She looked tired. This couldn’t be easy on her, either. “She’s so observant, it’s hard to keep things from her. So I try not to. But in this case, I think I might have made a mistake.”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t think more time would’ve helped. It was always going to be really confusing for her.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony said quietly. “I wish I could be the person she expects me to be.”

“It isn’t your fault,” Pepper told him. 

Tony looked at Rhodey. “I think we should go. I don’t want to upset Morgan more than I already have.”

“Tones,” Rhodey said, and then stopped, as though he wasn’t sure what else to say. “Maybe,” he finally conceded. “We can try again once she’s had some time to get used to the idea. If you think that’s a good idea,” he added to Pepper. 

Pepper pressed her lips together, looking unhappy, but she didn’t argue with the plan. Instead she wrapped up some of the tiramisu for them to take back to the compound, where they were staying, and put the coffee she’d just made into thermoses. 

Peter followed them out to the car. He knew this was probably the right thing for them to do, and this way he and May could stay the weekend with Morgan and Pepper, like they usually did. But he was loath to let Tony out of his sight. He was suddenly afraid that this was all a dream, and the moment Tony left, Peter would wake up.

“Are you going back to DC?” Peter asked Tony as they hovered in the driveway. He was trying not to sound too needy or eager, but playing it cool had never been his strong suit. May said it was endearing, and MJ said she liked that he was easy to read, but Peter still wished he had a little more of a poker face. 

“Not sure,” Tony said. “Rhodey has to get back next week, but I don’t know yet if I’m gonna go with him.”

“I, um. I have a school break coming up.” Peter couldn’t quite look Tony in the eye. “Christmas in New York is fun. I could text you?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. “Sure, Pete. Let me give you my number.” 

They exchanged numbers, and then Rhodey gave Peter a hug before getting behind the wheel. Peter stepped back, arms crossed over his chest against the cold, watching as Tony climbed in. The car’s lights turned on and swept across the width of the driveway as Rhodey pulled out and drove slowly down toward the main road. 

Peter looked down at the phone in his hand. Mr. Stark’s number was in his phone under ‘OMFG IRON MAN’. He’d never changed it. Tony’s number was in his phone under ‘Tony,’ no last name. He wondered if he’d actually use it. 

May came down the steps and stood beside him. She put her arm around his shoulders and squeezed lightly. “How are _you_ doing, kiddo?”

Peter had to think about it. “I’m kind of confused and sad, too,” he finally admitted. “But also... I don’t know. Happy? I think? More than I thought I would be. And that makes me feel weird, because it’s not like... it’s not like it didn’t happen. And I don’t think... I can’t just stop... grieving. Because I still lost Mr. Stark. I don’t know if any of that made sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, honey,” May said. She kissed him on the side of the head. “Come on, let’s go inside. It’s freezing out here.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my betas, whumphoarder and Fuzzyboo.

“So what do you think?” Rhodey asked. “You want to come back to DC with me?”

Tony paused the video he’d been watching of Spiderman stopping a bus with his bare hands. It was from seven years ago; Peter had been wearing a homemade suit with way less protection than the one Tony had helped him fix three days ago. 

Thank God the Tony Stark from this universe had stepped in. Knowing Peter had survived those early days of superheroing without backup, proper gear, or any idea what he was doing wasn’t enough to take the stress out of watching the videos. And yet Tony couldn’t seem to stop. 

(His favorite was the compilation video of Spiderman rescuing people’s pets. It was frankly adorable, and even the angriest cat in a tree seemed to mellow out once Peter tucked him under his arm.)

Rhodey was still waiting on his answer. The truth was that even after three days at the compound, Tony wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He knew himself. He knew that at some point he was going to fuck up –– he just would, it was inevitable –– and he doubted that Rhodey’s grief for his counterpart in this universe would save him then.

So no, Tony really should not go back to DC with Rhodey. He should let Rhodey get back to the life he’d had there before Tony had crash-landed in it. But there wasn’t much for him here at the compound, either. Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes were the only two Avengers currently in residence. They seemed nice enough, but Tony didn’t know them. If Bruce had been here, it might’ve been different; Tony had always gotten along well with the Bruce Banner in his universe, and he would’ve liked to see him again. But Bruce was on the other side of the world and not picking up his messages. 

The only other option was New York. Pepper had given him access to a bank account, and Nick Fury procured him a passport and a driver’s license. He could drive down and get a hotel room. And then... what?

He glanced down at his phone, where Spiderman was in mid-flight, arcing between two buildings. 

Peter hadn’t called or texted. Tony wasn’t surprised, but he was a little disappointed. He’d kind of thought they’d had a connection. But Peter was obviously still grieving for _his_ Tony. He didn’t owe Tony anything. 

“Yeah,” he finally said. What the hell. 

Rhodey clapped him on the shoulder. “Awesome.”

“Really?” Tony said, not quite trusting it. 

“Yeah, Tones. Jesus, how many times do I have to say that I want you around?” Rhodey squeezed his shoulder. “Pack your shit. Wheels up in two hours.”

An hour later, Tony was shoving the last of his t-shirts –– which were the other Tony’s t-shirt’s, borrowed out of storage with Pepper’s permission –– when his phone buzzed. Tony eyed it curiously and then swiped through to see who was texting him. There were fewer than five people who had the number, and he hadn’t really been expecting to hear from any of them. 

It wasn’t any of them, it turned out. _Hi Tony, this is May Parker. If you want to hear from Peter, you’re going to need to contact him. He’s worked himself into a tizzy because he doesn’t think you actually want to hear from him._

Tony blinked. He sat down on the bed, phone in his hand, and quickly wrote May back. 

**I definitely didn’t mean to make him anxious. I was trying to give him space. I didn’t want to assume anything.**

_That’s exactly what I told Peter. But this is very HIM. He gets anxious about people liking him or just pitying him._

Tony could identify with that more than he’d ever admit. For him, it had always been a question of whether someone really liked him for him or whether they’d liked him for his money and his name. But it still boiled down to not being able to trust people’s motives. 

**Got it** , he wrote back. **Any tips?**

_Well... DONT tell him I meddled but a movie theater in NYC is showing the original Star Wars trilogy this week. Peter had tickets for tomorrow with his BFF but Ned’s grandmother is sick, so his family ended up going out of town. I bet he’d love to go with you, if you’re up for eight hours of Star Wars. Fair warning: there WILL be costumes._

Jesus Christ. The truth was that Tony wasn’t totally sure he was up for this. He liked _Star Wars_ –– what red-blooded ‘80s child didn’t? –– but what May was describing was a whole other level. 

On the other hand... she was really throwing him a bone here, and Tony had liked Peter when he’d met him. It’d seemed like Peter had liked him, too, or at least he hadn’t hated him on sight. 

**OK. Thanks** , he finally sent. He opened up a new message, this time to Peter. He paused, thumbs at the ready, thinking. 

**Hi Peter** , he finally decided on, and hit send before he could talk himself out of it. 

Three dancing dots appeared immediately. 

_Hey!_ Peter wrote. And then, almost immediately, _OMG May texted you didn’t she_  
_I’m sorry_  
_Don’t let her guilt you into thinking you have to text me_  
_You don’t. It’s okay._  
_Sorry I have to go die now_

Tony stared at the string of texts with his eyebrows raised. May hadn’t been kidding. She’d also been clear that he shouldn’t let on that she’d meddled, but he didn’t think lying was a good idea. Peter would figure it out eventually, and then he’d feel betrayed. **She did text me** , he finally admitted, **but I’m glad she did. I was waiting for you to contact me.**

_Really?_

**Yep. We would’ve been waiting a hell of a long time if your aunt hadn’t said something.**

_I guess so._

Tony waited, but that was all he got. As the grown-up, he supposed it was on him to push the conversation forward. And wasn’t _that_ a foreign feeling? He was almost never the grown-up in his relationships. 

**Your aunt mentioned you had tickets to a Star Wars thing?**

_Yeah! My friend Ned and I were supposed to go, but his grandma got sick, and my girlfriend will only watch one SW movie at a time, plus I have to swap her a true crime documentary for every SW thing I make her watch._

Tony smirked. **She sounds fun.**

_She is! SW just isn’t her thing. But it also isn’t your thing, is it?_

**It’s not NOT my thing. Unless you had other plans for the tickets.**

_No! That’d be awesome. Are you sure?_

Tony smiled to himself. **Yeah, kid, I’m sure. Send me the details.**

_Will do. Wow_

Tony frowned. This didn’t seem worthy of a ‘wow’ to him. **What wow?**

_No, this is just... it’s really different. But also cool!_

Tony raised his eyebrows at this. His impression from the kid’s aunt was that his other self and the kid had been close. But maybe they hadn’t done this sort of thing. It was kind of hard to go to the movies when you were Tony Stark, after all. Or at least it had been. 

There were some upsides to the entire world thinking you were dead. 

A knock at the door made Tony glance up. “Hey Tones,” Rhodey said. “You just about ready to go?”

“Oh,” Tony said, looking back down at his phone. “Yeah. About that. Would you be okay if I went down to the city after all? Peter and I are kind of making plans.”

“Really? Already? That’s great.” Rhodey leaned against the doorjamb. “What’re you going to do?”

“We’re gonna go see some _Star Wars_ marathon, I guess.”

Rhodey’s eyes widened. “Like at a movie theater? You’re not worried about people seeing you and freaking out?”

Tony shrugged. “I think Pep’s right. The beard has to go.” He ran a hand over his goatee. “And I’ll wear my glasses.”

“Leave the gray, too,” Rhodey advised. “There aren’t that many public photos of him the last few years since he stopped dying his hair. If you do that and you wear something other than jeans, a t-shirt, and a sports coat, I bet no one’ll look twice at you.”

“I don’t know if I even have anything else.” 

Rhodey pressed a finger to his lips. The smile lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “Be right back.”

He disappeared down the hall. Tony shrugged to himself and turned back to his packing, figuring he was going to be heading out anyway. The destination had just changed.

“Here,” Rhodey said, reappearing in the doorway. He had a stack of sweaters in his hands. “The perfect anti-Tony Stark disguise. Ugly holiday sweaters!”

“Where did you get these?” Tony asked, holding one up. It had a giant Rudolph on it, with a red pom pom in the place of his nose. 

“We did an ugly sweater party last year,” Rhodey said. “The holidays were rough –– it’d been less than three months since everything, and we were all still reeling. But Sam and Bucky pulled it together for us. And it actually was pretty great. Just what we all needed.”

“Holy shit, these are _so_ ugly,” Tony said in wonder, holding up another sweater. This one had an oversized bedazzled snowflake on it, but it was the garish shade of pink that really tipped it over the edge. It was going to look hideous on him. 

He kind of loved it. 

“I know,” Rhodey said. “Barnes has an evil sense of humor. But it’s the perfect disguise. And you’ll mortify your kid, too. That’s a win-win.”

Tony smiled, but he had to correct Rhodey. “He’s not my kid.”

Rhodey’s smile slipped a little. “Right. Sorry. It’s, um. It’s not that I forget, it’s that... I don’t know. All the parts of him that I loved most are still there in you. You’re different people, sure, but it just doesn’t matter that much to me. Maybe that’s fucked up, but I’m not sure I care.”

Tony had to concentrate on folding the sweaters and placing them in his bag so he didn’t just start bawling. When he looked up, Rhodey was watching him with a knowing little smile on his face. Tony cleared his throat. “You’re sure this is okay?”

“Hell yes. I got you to myself for days, and it’s good for you to start figuring out what the rest of your life here is going to look like. Besides,” Rhodey shrugged, “I’ll be back up on the twenty-fourth for Christmas.”

“Right.” Tony shook his head. “I keep forgetting. It was June when I fell through.” Tony took a deep breath, looking at Rhodey. He felt the impulse to be sarcastic, to deflect, to ruin the moment out of some deeply ingrained automatic self-defense. 

But this was Rhodey. It wasn’t his Rhodey, but it was still Rhodey. 

“Thanks for everything,” Tony finally said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Hey, anytime, Tones, you know that. Bring it in.” Rhodey held his arms out and Tony stepped into them. Rhodey wrapped him up and held him tight. “I’m so glad you’re here. I know it’s all messy as hell, but God help me, I’d much rather live in a world with Tony Stark than a world without.”

Tony’s throat went tight and aching, his vision blurry, both with unshed tears. He couldn’t speak, so instead he just squeezed Rhodey extra hard. 

After a few seconds, Rhodey stepped back, though he didn’t let go entirely. “Have fun with Peter. Call me, all right? Otherwise I’m gonna start to think I dreamt all this.”

His tone was joking, but his eyes weren’t. “You can call me, too, you know,” Tony said. “If you start to think that. Anytime, day or night.”

“I might take you up on that.” Rhodey stepped back. “See you soon, Tones.”

“See you soon, honeybear. Fly safe.”

Rhodey gave him one last smile and then he left. Tony heard the apartment door open and close. 

His absence left Tony feeling a bit unmoored. Rhodey had been his one constant, almost from the moment he’d landed in this universe. But he was right: it was time to start figuring out the rest of his life here. It was equal parts exciting and terrifying, but it couldn’t be worse than getting sober had been. And when he thought about this universe’s Tony Stark, who had sorted his shit out in a way he himself had never managed, things seemed a little more possible. 

***

It was unseasonably warm in the city, and much warmer than it had been at the compound upstate. Tony had his jacket folded over his arm as he left his hotel the next morning and started the walk across town to the movie theater where he was going to meet Peter. 

The city’s landscape was different from the one he was used to. A lot of buildings had been destroyed in the Chitauri invasion, over ten years ago now. Tony had looked at a before and after map the night before. The worst of the destruction was concentrated in Midtown, and parts of it were almost unrecognizable. But the grid of the city’s streets was the same, and that made it easy for Tony to navigate a city that somehow felt a lot like the one he’d left behind, even while it didn’t look much like it at all. 

No one glancesd twice at him. He’d been a little apprehensive about drawing too much attention, so in the end he’d gone with the least offensive of the sweaters that Rhodey had given him. It had a festive red-and-white pattern of Scottie dogs and tiny bells sewn in around the collar. Coupled with a pair of stone-washed jeans and glasses, along with hair that was already longer than Tony usually allowed it to get, he was pretty much unrecognizable.

Peter was cooling his heels at the Starbucks next to the movie theater, slurping on some terrible sugary concoction with whipped cream and typing away at his phone. “Hey kid,” Tony said, dropping into the chair across from him. 

Peter looked up. His eyes widened and his mouth fell open. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Tony said with a smirk. “What, you don’t like it?”

“It’s... festive,” Peter replied in a strangled voice. 

“That it is,” Tony agreed, picking at a piece of lint on the sleeve. “Rhodey gave it to me. I guess it’s a hand-me-down from some holiday sweater party last year.”

“Oh, right,” Peter said. “Yeah. I didn’t go to that. I had finals, and I, um.” He paused and took a breath, like he was steeling himself. “I wasn’t really in a party mood.” 

It’d only been a few months since his other self had died, Rhodey had said. “Yeah, I get that. Well, you’ll get to see them now. Rhodey gave me a bunch on the theory that no one would expect to see me in them.”

Peter gave a small chuckle. “He’s right. I kind of felt like my brain might explode seeing you just now. Like I couldn’t hold the idea of To –– of you and a sweater with Scottie dogs and bells on it together at the same time. Oh crap, I almost forgot.” He slid a second Starbucks cup over to him. “This is for you. I hope I got the order right. Double Americano with an extra shot and two pumps of sugar free vanilla? Is that right?”

“Got it in one,” Tony said, impressed. “I guess some things don’t change, even when traveling between universes.” He took a sip. “Thanks. What do I owe you?”

Peter shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Come on, kid, I’m a–– well, I guess I’m not technically a billionaire, but Pepper has me on a very generous allowance.”

Peter shook his head again. “You can get the popcorn.”

“What about the tickets?” Tony asked. He wasn’t sure what the Parkers’ financial situation was, but he figured it had to be middle class at most –– though he assumed his other self wouldn’t have left them without anything. 

“They were a birthday present from Ned, way back in August.”

Ned was the best friend, Tony vaguely recalled. “Oh. I’m sorry he can’t be here.”

“Yeah. He was disappointed, but he’s also super worried about his grandmother.” Peter was starting to look a little down, and that hadn’t been Tony’s intention at all. He was fucking this up. They hadn’t even been sitting here for five minutes –– hadn’t even gotten to the damn theater yet –– and he was already fucking this up. 

“We’ll have a good time, though,” Tony said, with possibly a little too much forced cheer. “Hey, what are you doing later? We can grab dinner afterward.”

Peter chewed briefly on his lip. “I was going to patrol on my way home. May’s on the swing shift so she won’t get home until after midnight. But, um, dinner would be good. If you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Tony laughed. “Pete, for once in my life, I actually _don’t_ have anywhere to be. No one to see and nothing to do.”

“Huh. What’s that like?”

“Kind of weird,” Tony admitted. “Not sure I like it. But for now, it’s okay.” He glanced at his watch. “I guess we should head over to the theater.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Peter got up and threw his whipped cream and sugar encrusted cup away. Tony drained the last of his coffee in three long pulls. He tossed it, and the two of them made their way next door, where a pack of _Star Wars >_ nerds were already forming a line along the side of the building. 

Jesus. May hadn’t been kidding about the costumes. 

Beneath his jacket, Peter was wearing a “Han shot first” shirt, which was mainstream enough that Tony understood it. But there were people in line dressed as every character Tony could name from the movies, plus a bunch that he couldn’t. There were kids dressed up as tiny Hans and Leilas and Lukes, not to mention a slew of Chewbaccas and Ewoks. There were plenty of adults dressed up, too, some of them... elaborately. 

“Holy shit,” Tony muttered under his breath as they found the end of the line. 

“I know, isn’t it great?” Peter said, looking considerably happier than he had a few minutes ago. “It’s like a mini Comic Con.”

“If you say so, kid,” Tony said, glancing around. 

Peter’s smile slipped a little. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. Tony immediately felt like an asshole. 

“No, you’re right, it is fun,” he said. “You got the tickets?”

“Yep.” Peter pulled out his phone. “Ned got great seats, too. We’re smack in the middle. Perfect for all the effects.”

“Effects?”

“Yeah! They’re showing them in 4DX.”

“What’s 4DX?”

“It’s kind of like an amusement park ride, like at Disneyland. The chairs move, and they spray you with water. They had to remaster the originals for it to work, and this is the first time they’ve ever done it.” Peter bounced on his heels. “It’s going to be so cool. What did you think it was?”

“I just thought it was the original movies, all shown together,” Tony said. The line started to move, and they shuffled forward. “But this is cool, too. I’ve never seen a movie in... 4DX.”

Peter grinned at him. “You’ll love it. I promise.”

Looking at Peter’s face, lit up in anticipation, Tony thought that was probably true. Whether he liked it or not, he was damn well going to love it. 

***

It was true for all of the first movie and most of the second. After that, Tony started getting twitchy. He’d never been the sort of person who liked spending a day off watching eight or nine hours of movies or TV. His father would’ve never allowed that sort of thing, and neither had his boarding school. He’d never learned to just... sit. And the 4DX effects were fine, but rather rudimentary. Tony thought he could’ve designed better in his sleep. By the start of the second movie, the novelty had thoroughly worn off. 

The same didn’t seem to be true for Peter. He was as enraptured as if he’d never seen them before. He soaked up the enthusiasm of everyone around him like a sponge. In the last half of _Empire Strikes Back_ , Tony found himself watching Peter more than the movie. 

Had he ever had that much unfettered enthusiasm for anything? Had he ever been allowed to? He was pretty sure the answer to both questions was no. He’d had interests, sure. But they were all things Howard had deemed useful, like robotics or rebuilding old car engines. He’d liked cooking and playing the piano with his mother when he was young, but Howard had put a stop to both of those by the time he was twelve. 

It was easy to understand what his other self had seen in Peter Parker –– himself but less damaged. What he might’ve been, if he’d grown up in a loving home with gentle encouragement instead of harsh edicts. 

He’d thought he was covering his boredom up, but apparently he wasn’t doing it as well as he’d thought. “You’re not into this, are you?” Peter asked him directly at the second intermission. They were standing in line in the concession stand, waiting along with dozens of others for a refill on the unlimited popcorn included in the tickets. 

“What are you talking about? This is great,” Tony replied. 

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. “It’s okay if you want to leave. I won’t get offended.”

It was tempting, but Tony only had to imagine what May Parker –– or Rhodey, or Pepper for that matter –– would have to say about it to know what he had to do. “No,” he said firmly. “Look, I’m not going to lie and say this is really my thing. But it’s your thing, and you’re having a great time. Besides, I like _Return of the Jedi_ the best.”

“Yeah?” Peter said, brightening. “Me too! Even though Lucas put the silly stuff in at the end when he redid them.”

“The dangers of too much creative freedom,” Tony said with a nod. “It’s better to work within constraints, otherwise you just get ––”

“–– self-indulgent,” Peter finished. His eyes were wide, and he suddenly looked very pale. 

“Pete?” Tony said. 

“I, um. I think I need to sit down. No, no, don’t –– just, give me a minute.” Peter lurched out of the line. Tony hesitated, but Peter had explicitly told him he needed a minute, and they’d almost reached the front of the line. He kept an eye on Peter as he refilled their buckets of popcorn and ordered two more sodas. 

The crowd in the lobby had started to thin by the time Tony set his spoils down on the table in front of Peter. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Peter mumbled. He reached for his soda and took a long sip. He still looked kind of pale and shaky. 

Tony took the chair across from him. “Want to tell me what happened there?”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut briefly. “Mr. Stark said the exact same thing to me like... I don’t know. Maybe a week before everything happened? The exact same thing, word for word. It wasn’t about _Star Wars_ , though, it was about the _Hobbit_ movies and why they’re not as good as _The Lord of the Rings_. I don’t know why it hit me so hard.”

“Grief does that sometimes,” Tony said –– a little inanely, he thought. But Peter nodded as though he’d said something profound. 

“It’s just so weird,” he said, glancing at him and then away. “Because you’re right in front of me, but I still miss... _him_.”

“That’s not weird.” 

“He wouldn’t have done this,” Peter added, gesturing to the movie theater. “Not in a million years. Too much chance of getting recognized, but mostly he was just too... cool for it, I guess. I was really surprised when you offered.”

Tony was quiet for a moment. Finally he said, “Howard hated things he thought were a waste of time, like movies or hobbies or –– well, anything that didn’t make money. I work to music partly because that’s the only way he’d let me listen to it when I was a teenager. It was a bonus that he hated all the music I liked, so it also kept him out of my workshop.”

Peter gave a small laugh. He had some color back in his cheeks. 

“Anyway. I don’t know. I guess I feel like all of those expectations are gone now,” Tony said with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter if something is –– is _on brand_ for Tony Stark, because I’m not Tony Stark.”

“You are, though,” Peter objected. 

“Not as far as anyone else knows,” Tony said. “I get to figure out who I want to be without all the constraints Howard put on me.”

“I thought constraints were a good thing,” Peter said, a teasing note in his voice. “Isn’t that where this all started?”

Tony cracked a smile. “There are other constraints. The constraint to make a living, for one thing. Pep’s not going to let me starve, but I don’t want to live off her charity forever.”

Peter frowned. “So you don’t think that the two of you...”

“No,” Tony said. That much had been abundantly clear from the aborted visit to the lake house. “No. I’m not in love with her. She’s not in love with me, either. I’m not the man she married.”

“And there’s the Morgan factor,” Peter said quietly.

“Exactly. If Pepper and Morgan want me around, I’m happy to be there, but I’m never going to replace the person they lost.”

Peter nodded. He took a deep breath, then glanced around the lobby. It was basically deserted, just the folks behind the concessions counter cleaning up. “I think we missed the start of the movie.”

Tony checked his watch. “Yeah, but only by about ten minutes. What do you say?”

Peter looked uncertain. “Are you sure? We could just go get real food somewhere else.”

“Afterward,” Tony said. “After all this, we’re not going to skip out on the best of the three, are we?”

“No, I guess not,” Peter agreed. He grabbed both of their popcorns as they stood up, Tony collected their sodas, and they headed back toward the theater. 

Tony wasn’t sure where the urge to put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeeze came from. He was a tactile person, but it usually took him a while to get there with someone he didn’t know. But there was something about Peter that crashed through all his defenses and made him want to trust.

He put his hand on Peter’s shoulder and squeezed. Peter looked at him, visibly surprised, and then smiled. 

“Don’t hog the popcorn,” Tony said, just as they were about to go into the theater. 

“No promises, Tony,” Peter said, hefting both bags of popcorn in his arms. “No promises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I know, they haven't redone the original trilogy for 4DX, but they totally should. It'd be a good time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that gave me the most trouble, even though it might be the most hurt/comforty chapter of all. Many thanks to Fuzzyboo and whumphoarder for being great betas and sounding boards.

“Well, that’s...” MJ paused. “Something I haven’t heard before,” she finally offered. 

Peter laughed. They were lying on her bed, facing each other. MJ was propped up against the headboard, and Peter against the footboard. Their legs were tangled together in the middle, and one of MJ’s hands rested on Peter’s foot. He was wearing his suit, but his mask was off. MJ’s parents were at her dad’s company holiday party and wouldn't be home for hours. Peter couldn’t stay all evening, though; he’d promised May that he’d be home in time to help decorate the apartment. 

At the moment, he kind of regretted making that promise, even though he loved putting up the Christmas tree. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, looking out her window. Her apartment was on the tenth floor, so there wasn’t much to see except a lot of other buildings and rooftops. The people in the apartment directly across the street were playing video games on their enormous TV. “I gotta say, it’s pretty weird.”

“Um, yeah, I’d guess so.”

“But it’s weird partly because there’s times when it’s not weird, when it’s almost the same, like when we were in the garage working on my suit. And then there are other times when it’s totally different. Like the other day at the movies.”

“Hmm.” MJ scrunched her nose up. “I kind of imagined that Tony Stark is Tony Stark no matter what –– except maybe there are some universes out there where he’s a super villain.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “MJ...”

“What?” She pinched his big toe. “Tell me I’m wrong. Billionaire, genius, orphan –– could go either way.”

Peter grinned. “All right, you’re not wrong. And yeah, there’s something about him that’s fundamentally Tony. But he’s way more...”

“Arrogant?” MJ supplied. 

“No. Lonely.”

“Huh.” MJ leaned back, regarding him. “Not what I expected.”

“Me neither.” Peter shrugged. “He sat through eight hours of _Star Wars_. For me.”

“ _I’m_ not even willing to do that.”

“I know! And I’m pretty sure Mr. Stark wouldn’t have been, either. And then I think...” Peter cut himself off. He hadn’t even known what he was thinking until he’d been about to say it, and now he wasn’t sure he wanted to. 

“What?” MJ prompted, judging him with her foot. 

Peter swallowed. “What if I get closer to Tony than I ever was to Mr. Stark? Is that –– is that _forgetting_ Mr. Stark?”

“Oh.” MJ was quiet for a moment, obviously thinking that over. “Did you feel like getting close to Mr. Stark meant you were forgetting Ben?”

“Sometimes,” Peter admitted. “And this is even worse, because they’re kind of the same person.”

“But they’re not,” MJ said. “You just said it yourself. And you’re never going to forget Mr. Stark, just like you’re never going to forget Ben.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, without much conviction. He knew she was right, but knowing it and _knowing it_ were two different things. 

MJ shook her head. “God save me from damaged white boys. Come up here, loser.” She patted the bed beside her. 

Peter chuckled. He crawled up the length of the bed and sprawled out beside her. 

“Hi,” she whispered, from only a couple inches away. 

“Hi,” Peter returned softly. 

She kissed him, then pulled away and ran a gentle hand through his curls. “Listen to me. Does it feel like a good thing?”

Peter had to think about it. He felt guilty, but he wouldn’t feel guilty if it _didn’t_ feel like a good thing, he decided. He felt guilty because he’d liked spending time with Tony. “Yeah.”

“Then don’t turn it into a bad thing.”

“But ––”

“Shut up a sec and listen.” MJ’s eyes cut away briefly, then came back to meet his. “You know me, Peter. I’m always looking for the catch, the hidden downside, the seedy underbelly, and I usually find it. But it’s possible that in this case there isn’t one. Maybe... I don’t know. Maybe the universe felt it needed to right some wrongs.”

Peter frowned. It was a somewhat uncharacteristic take, coming from MJ. “Do you really think that?”

MJ shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That doesn’t seem fair, though. Because it rights them for everyone but Mr. Stark.”

“Maybe it doesn’t need to. Because he’s okay, wherever he is.”

Peter’s throat went tight. “I hope so,” he whispered. 

“Aww, you big sap, come here.” MJ pulled Peter’s head down to her shoulder. 

Peter hid his face, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’d much rather date a guy who cried on me than one who bought into toxic tropes of masculinity.”

Peter gave a watery chuckle., “You’re welcome, I guess.” He took a deep breath. “I’m okay. We can talk about something else. Or –– or do something else?”

“What time do you have to be home?”

“About seven-thirty.” Peter propped himself up on his elbow. “Are you sure you don’t want to come help us decorate? Happy’s gonna make eggnog. I bet he and May get kind of drunk. It’s pretty funny.”

“Thanks, but I’m good. I’ve got my annual _Nightmare Before Christmas_ rewatch.”

“Okay.” Peter sighed, laying his head on her shoulder. “Could we put on the stop-action Christmas episode from _Community_ and just...”

She poked him in the side. “What?”

“Cuddle,” Peter mumbled, a little embarrassed. He was pretty sure they’d both had something more than cuddling in mind when he’d swung over, but his head was kind of a mess.

“Duh.” She pulled her laptop over to queue up the episode. “That sounds awesome.”

It was a little later than Peter intended when he finally left MJ’s apartment on the border between the Upper East Side and Harlem and swung south toward Midtown. It was too windy today for swinging across the river via the Queensboro, but he’d hidden his backpack near Grand Central; he could change there and hop the 7 into Queens. 

Christmas was Peter’s favorite time of year to be a New Yorker, and he had to work not to get distracted by the lights and window displays as he swung along. Crowds of people streamed by below, more than would usually be out on a Thursday evening. Lots of people doing last minute shopping, attending office holiday parties, or just enjoying the evening. 

His route took him past the Roosevelt Hotel, where Tony had mentioned he was staying. He hesitated, stuck to the side of a building between swings, wondering if he should stop in and see if Tony wanted to come help decorate. He hadn’t seen him since they’d said good-bye after dinner on Tuesday. 

But Happy was going to be there, and Happy was being kind of weird about everything. May said he’d get past it eventually, but it wouldn’t be fair for Peter to spring it on him. He decided he’d swing by the hotel tomorrow and say hi. 

“Peter,” Karen said, as he neared the alley where he’d stashed his backpack, “there appears to be a mugging in progress up ahead.”

“Crap,” Peter muttered. “All right. Tell May I’m gonna be a few minutes late.”

As luck –– or at least coincidence –– would have it, the mugging was in the same alley where he’d stashed his stuff. Peter used it whenever he swung up to MJ’s; it was a narrow, unlit pathway from one side street to another that contained nothing except a rusty old dumpster. It was perfect for hiding a backpack –– or holding up a careless pedestrian who thought they’d take a short cut. 

Peter landed on the side of the building and paused, listening, to get an idea of what he’d be getting into.

“Just take the wallet, man,” the victim was saying. “I don’t have anything else on me, I swear.”

“Gimme your phone, and I bet there’s a laptop in that backpack. Hurry up!”

“The laptop’s five years old. It’s not worth anything, and it’s got my Master’s thesis on it. Come on, just –– whoa, okay, okay ––”

Peter landed behind the mugger. “This isn’t exactly in the holiday spirit, now, is it?”

The mugger whipped around, and –– yikes, that was a gun. Even worse, it was a gun in a very shaky hand. “Stay out of this, Spiderman!”

“Can’t, sorry,” Peter said, and webbed the gun out of the victim’s hand. It was lighter than he expected, which made him wonder if it was even loaded. He webbed it tight to the side of a dumpster with one arm, and hit the mugger with his taser webs using the other. He fell to the ground, twitching a little. Not too much, though. Peter was always careful to use the lowest setting on unenhanced humans. He crouched down to retrieve the phone and wallet out of the mugger’s weakened grip. He stood up and tossed them to the victim. 

“Here you go,” Peter said. “Happy holidays. And hey, maybe back that thesis up in the cloud? It’s almost 2025, there’s no reason to be keeping things on physical hard drives.”

“Thanks, yeah, I will,” the guy said shakily. “Um, are you...”

“I got him. Get home safe, all right?”

“Will do. Happy holidays, Spiderman!” 

The victim bolted. Peter crouched back down next to the mugger and tugged down the ski mask he was wearing over his face. The guy glared up at him with reddened eyes. “So, what was this about? Was it drugs? I’m thinking it was drugs. You seem kind of wired.”

“Fuck you, you annoying little shit.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Peter sighed. “But I mean, look at your life, dude. Look at your choices. You’re out here holding people up like four days before Christmas. I know this isn’t what you want to be doing with your life. Are there even any bullets in that gun?”

The mugger gritted his teeth, which was all the answer Peter needed. 

“So here’s my dilemma,” Peter went on, when he didn’t say anything “Addiction is a disease, and I kind of don’t want to call the cops on you. But I can’t have you running around my city, mugging innocent people, even if the gun isn’t loaded.”

“You don’t get it,” the mugger burst out. “I can’t get a job with a felony on my record, and I owe money to people. _Bad people_.”

“Yeah, but that’s not anyone else’s fault.”

“Whatever, he could’ve afforded it. Prissy little asshole like him. Or you.”

Peter frowned. “Hey. I’m trying to help you here, don’t make me regret it.”

“I didn’t ask for your help!” he snapped. “Go ahead and call the cops, I don’t fucking care. My life is shit anyway.”

“You could get help, you know,” Peter said. “I can help you get help if that’s what you want.”

If anything, this seemed to piss him off even more. “You don’t know a damn thing about me. You’re not my parole officer. Just call the cops so we can get this over with.”

Peter sighed. “All right. I tried. Karen, call Officer Johnson at NYPD and tell him I got someone webbed up at ––”

His ass hit the ground the first, followed by the back of his head. Hard. Hard enough that he saw stars. 

It took him a few seconds to drag himself to his feet. The mugger was trying to liberate his gun from the side of the dumpster, but Peter had webbed it up good and tight. It wasn’t moving. “Hey,” Peter said, feeling kind of slow from having bounced his head off the concrete. “Stop that.”

The guy made a noise of frustration. “Keep your nose out of other people’s business,” he told him. Peter had a split second’s warning from his Spidey sense, right before the dude punched him in the face. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad, except he hit his head _again_ on the way down. This time on the side of the dumpster. _Ow._ Dazed, he curled up defensively, waiting for the next blow. 

It never came. Instead the mugger turned and ran. 

Peter didn’t move. He felt like his brain had really gotten rattled around with that last blow. Definitely a concussion. An embarrassing one, too, considering it’d just been a run-of-the-mill mugger. 

“Peter, I have sent the photo of the assailant’s face to NYPD and informed them he escaped.”

“Thanks, Karen.” Peter managed to sit up, leaning against the dumpster. His head was pounding. “Okay. Okay. Call Happy.”

“Mr. Hogan is on his way, but it will be some time before he can reach you.”

“Right.” Peter swallowed, feeling suddenly nauseous and woozy. The smells from the dumpster weren’t helping, either.

There was only one thing to do, even though the idea of doing it made Peter feel even dizzier. For the last year, whenever he got himself in hot water, he’d thought about Mr. Stark and how badly he wished he could call him. How reassuring it would be to hear his voice just one more time. 

And now... he could. Sort of. 

Peter sucked in a sharp breath. “Call Tony.”

***

It wasn’t the sound of repulsors that heralded Tony’s arrival, but footsteps on pavement and a lot of creative swearing. 

“Pete?” Tony called from the mouth of the alley. 

“Not Pete,” Peter mumbled from his spot on the ground. He was sitting propped up against the dumpster. 

Tony landed on his knees beside him. “ _Jesus_. What the hell happened?”

“Got sloppy,” Peter said. “Thought the taser webs would keep him down for longer, and then I just fell wrong and hit my head. Twice.” He groaned. “I’m fine, just... kind of want to get out of this alley.”

“We can do that. Um...”

“My backpack’s behind the dumpster.”

“Right.” Tony’s nose wrinkled but he got up to retrieve the backpack. “Ugh. Gross,” he said, dropping the backpack near Peter. 

Peter squinted. His headache was seriously messing with his vision. He dug through the backpack and finally found a vial of websolvent. He handed it to Tony and gestured toward the gun. Tony busied himself with that while Peter hauled himself to his feet and leaned heavily against the dumpster while he changed out of his suit and into regular clothes.

“I have to say, I don’t love this system,” Tony said, once Peter was done. He was holding the gun gingerly. 

Peter took it from him and opened it to check the chamber. Empty, as he’d suspected. “What system?”

“You, changing in alleyways in freezing temperatures.”

“It’s fine.” Peter stuffed the gun in his backpack. He’d give it to Happy to take care of. 

“Is it, though?”

Peter ignored him. He took his phone out and activated his Karen app. “Karen, where’s Happy?”

“Mr. Hogan is approximately fifteen minutes away. He says that if you die before he gets here, he’ll kill you himself.”

Tony gave a chuckle. “That sounds like Happy.”

“Karen, tell him I’m not actively dying.”

“Of course, Peter.”

Tony shrugged out of his coat and draped it over Peter’s shoulders. Peter curled his fingers into it. It was so warm. “Come on, kid,” Tony said, “let’s go sit in the hotel lobby. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a good idea. You’re not cold?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” Tony put his arm around Peter’s shoulders and steered him out of the alley and down the block.

Peter blinked. Slowly. “You always say that.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever said that to you.”

“No, you did... a lot. Never wanted me to worry about you, but I always did. I do. I just wanted you to be okay.” 

“Hey, hey, shh. You’re okay. I’m okay, too.”

Peter shook his head and immediately regretted it. Tony opened the door to the hotel and Peter felt a wave of warm air wash over him. It was a fancy hotel lobby, not like the cheap motels Peter and his aunt and uncle had stayed in on their occasional road trips. He immediately felt conspicuous, certain that anyone looking at them would _know_ he didn’t belong here.

Tony, of course, was oblivious to Peter’s discomfort. “Come on, let’s sit over here,” he said, drawing Peter over to a sitting area. It was off to the side at least, away from the giant Christmas tree and the check-in desk. They sat down. Despite his anxiety, Peter couldn’t help slumping into the chair. His head suddenly felt too big to hold up on his own. He closed his eyes.

“Will Happy know where you are?” Tony asked.

Peter nodded, keeping his eyes closed. “He can track the suit.”

“Okay. Do you need anything? Water, maybe?”

Peter still felt a little nauseous and woozy, even though the lobby was a definite improvement over the dumpster. “Water would be nice. Or maybe... ginger ale? If they have it?”

“I’m sure they do. I’ll be right back.” Tony got up and headed for the bar. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tried to disappear, hoping no one would notice him. 

He had no idea how long he’d been sitting here when someone put a hand on his shoulder and said, “Peter?” 

He opened his eyes and saw Happy standing in front of him. “Oh. Hey.”

“Jesus, you look like shit. Let’s get you home, all right?”

“Yeah. Wait. Tony went to get me something to drink.” Peter looked toward the bar and saw Tony coming back with a to-go cup and a straw in his hand. He slowed down a little when he caught sight of Happy, and for a second Peter thought he might veer off and vanish into the crowd in the lobby. But then he picked up the pace again. 

“Hey, Happy,” Tony greeted him with a smile that only looked a little forced to Peter. “Here you go, kid,” he added, handing Peter his ginger ale. 

“Thanks,” Peter said, struggling to sit upright in the chair. Tony gave him a hand up. Peter wobbled a little at the change in blood pressure, and they both rushed to steady him. “I’m okay, guys, really,” he said, uncomfortable with all the attention. “I just need to take a nap and I’ll be good as new.”

“You heard Dr. Cho last time you had a concussion,” Happy replied. “Head injuries are unpredictable even for you. You need to take them seriously.”

“I’m taking it seriously,” Peter grumbled. 

Happy rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go. I’m parked in a loading and unloading zone. You, too, I guess,” he added to Tony, not quite over his shoulder. 

“Wait, what?” Tony said. “Am I invited?”

“Apparently,” Peter said, and grabbed hold of Tony’s arm. “Come on. Before he changes his mind.”

Tony looked like he was thinking about arguing, but Peter kept a firm grip on him –– partially for Tony’s benefit and partially because Peter wasn’t feeling especially steady on his feet –– and in the end he came along. 

Happy had parked just outside the hotel’s entrance, and by some miracle he hadn’t been ticketed. He got in the front, and Tony, after a moment’s hesitation, crawled in back with Peter. 

It was warm –– almost too warm –– in the car. Peter stopped fighting so hard and let himself go fuzzy around the edges. He might have fallen asleep, except Tony kept prompting him to sip at his ginger ale. It did help stave off the nausea Peter knew was waiting for him just around the corner. In between sips, he rested his head against the seat and closed his eyes. The city lights were too bright, the city sounds too loud. 

The car finally stopped. 

“This is where they live?” Tony asked. 

“Don’t get me started,” Happy replied. “It’s a fifth floor walk-up. May calls it their penthouse.” He opened his door, admitting a blast of cold air, and climbed out. 

“A _walk-up_?” Tony said, disbelieving. “Why the hell would you live in a walk-up?”

“S’cheap,” Peter said with a shrug, and climbed out of the car. 

The first flight of stairs was okay. The second flight was harder. By the third flight, Peter’s head was really throbbing, and he felt like he might be getting a full blown migraine. He tried to power through, but Happy wouldn’t let him. “I really miss being able to take you to the tower, where there’s a goddamn elevator,” he muttered, and swung Peter over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. 

“Are you sure we shouldn’t take him to a doctor?” Tony asked.

“No doctor,” Peter objected. 

“Yeah, yeah, kid, we hear you,” Happy said. “May’s a nurse. He sees Helen Cho when he –– wait, do you ––”

“Yeah,” Tony said. 

“Right, well, he sees her when necessary, or at least when I can convince him, which isn’t as often as I’d like. He hates needles.”

Peter couldn’t help making a distressed noise. 

“Don’t worry, no needles today. No painkillers at all, in fact. You know the drill with a concussion.”

 _Ugh_. Peter thought he might have preferred the needle after all, if it made his head stop hurting. Being held upside down wasn’t helping. 

“Almost there,” Happy grunted. “Jesus Christ, kid, you’re lucky I still lift.”

May was waiting for them at the top of the stairs. She held the door open and ushered them in. The apartment smelled of pine and eggnog. 

Dammit, Peter thought, the decorating. It was May’s favorite thing, and Peter had ruined it by getting a concussion. 

“Set him down here. _Gently_ , Happy,” May admonished. Happy laid Peter down on the sofa. She perched on the edge of the coffee table. “Can you sit up for me, honey?”

“Yeah, sure.” Peter struggled upright. "Oh hey, before I forget. There's a gun in my backpack. S'not loaded," he added, when May looked alarmed. "Happy, can you... deal with it?"

"Sure thing, kid," Happy said, grabbing Peter's backpack. 

May's lips had thinned out in distress. Peter watched her deliberately relax her expression into something more neutral before she looked at him again. “I’m just gonna do a quick neuro exam, okay? Just to make sure we don’t need to see Dr. Cho.”

Peter sighed. “Okay.”

It was, at least, quick and painless. Peter counted the fingers she was holding up, let her shine a light in his eyes, touched his right ear with his left index finger, and answered a series of basic concussion questions. 

“All right, I think we’re okay,” May finally said, satisfied. “Just take it easy, all right? Get some rest, let your healing do its thing.”

“But the tree...” 

“I got helpers,” May said, and turned around. “Right, Tony?” 

Peter realized Tony had been hovering by the door, as though he might bolt at any moment. He cleared his throat. “Sure.”

“Put your coat down. I know you don’t drink, but I’ve got some cider on the stove. Can I get you some of that?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Tony draped his coat over the back of a chair, then pulled it up closer to the sofa. “How’re you doing, kid?”

“Okay,” Peter mumbled, eyes closing. He felt very sleepy. “Thanks for helping me.”

“Anytime, day or night,” Tony said quietly. He sounded like he meant it. “I’m just glad I was so close.”

“Mmm. Me too.”

May came back. Peter’s eyes were still closed, but he could smell the hot cider in the mug she handed to Tony. 

“How soon?” Tony asked.

“Hopefully, he’ll be up and around by tomorrow morning,” May replied. “Head injuries are a little more unpredictable, though, and he generally feels pretty under the weather while his healing factor is working. Don’t fall asleep yet, Peter, we need to get you into your pajamas.”

He tried, but it was an uphill battle. He was barely aware of May stuffing his arms into a pajama top and pulling it over his head. “You’d be better off in your bed,” she told him, but she sounded resigned, like she already knew he was going to choose to stay on the sofa. She tucked the t-shirt quilt she’d made him from all his dad’s science pun t-shirts over him and kissed him on the forehead. That was the last thing he knew. 

He woke later –– hours later, it felt like –– to the telltale itch of healing under his skin. He felt a little feverish and very weak, as though his body had diverted all its resources to healing the injury. He opened his eyes just a little and saw that the tree fully lit up, though only half-decorated. Tony and May sat on the floor in front of it, leaning back on their hands. There was a bottle of wine next to May, while Tony had a mug beside him. 

If he’d been feeling better, Peter would have smiled. There was something about the image that made him feel safe, protected. He closed his eyes, not wanting to disturb them, and let their voices wash over him. 

“–– not really sure,” Tony was saying. “I can’t live off Pepper forever. And I’m not sure I want to re-join SI, even if it wouldn't raise a lot of eyebrows.”

“Mmm. What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Start a new company, maybe? It’s what I know how to do.”

“Do you want to be a superhero?” May asked. “Not Iron Man, necessarily. We still need them.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I do love the idea of flying.”

May gave a low laugh. “Tony –– the other Tony, I mean –– loved to fly. That was his favorite part, he always said. I don’t think he liked fighting all that much, but he loved to fly.”

“That sounds nice. Maybe I’ll become a pilot.”

“Well, whatever you do, I hope you do it here in New York. Peter likes having you around, and I’ll never say no to someone else in his corner.”

“I think it’s either New York or DC.”

“What’s in DC?”

“Rhodey, mostly. But I don’t know if that’s fair to him. He didn’t sign up to baby-sit me.”

“Why do you assume he’d be baby-sitting you?”

Tony sighed. “Because I made a mess of my life in the other universe? I never got it together like your Tony did.”

“I don’t know that I’d have described him as having it together, either.”

“No, you don’t understand –– when I got sober, it was because I had to. Because a judge told me it was rehab or jail, and the board of SI said that I had to give up drinking or they were going to take drastic measures to shield the company from my reckless behavior.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And even then, it was too late in a lot of ways. My friendships with Rhodey and Pepper never recovered.”

“I see,” May said. “And you’re afraid you might make the same mistakes again?”

“Not the same ones,” Tony said. “The sobriety stuck. But different ones, yeah.”

It was quiet for a little while. Peter drifted, caught between sleeping and awake. 

“Do you know what I think?” May finally said. 

“What?”

“I think that it’s an interesting coincidence that you –– specifically _you_ –– were the Tony Stark who dropped into our universe. You’d fucked up your life there, but you deserved a second chance that your universe wasn’t going to give you. And this universe was missing its Tony badly.”

“So you think, what? There was some sort of... intelligent design at work?”

“Well, you know what they say: coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.”

“I don’t believe in God.”

“The universe, then.”

“How’s that any different?”

“So you think it was entirely coincidental that you fell into a universe that was missing its own Tony Stark?”

“You think it wasn’t?”

“I don’t know. I’m not bothered either way, I guess. I’m glad you’re here. It’s good for Peter.”

“You think so?” Tony’s voice was quiet and a little uncertain.

May was firm in her answer. “I do.” They were silent for a few seconds, until May yawned. “Oof. It’s late, and I’m out of wine. Guess it’s time for bed. Want to stay over? Help us finish decorating in the morning? We can order bagels.”

“Nah, I should get back. But tell Peter I’ll call him. You need any help moving him into his room?”

“No, I’ll just let him sleep on the sofa –– he’s done it before, God knows.” Peter heard the two of them stand up. Tony gathered everything up and took it into the kitchen, then put his shoes on. 

“Hey, before you go,” May said. “What are your Christmas plans?”

“Oh.” Tony sounded surprised. “I don’t really have any.”

“Well, we’re supposed to go to the lake house on Christmas Day, and I realize that’s a little bit fraught for you. But do you maybe want to come over for Christmas Eve dinner? Rhodey’s invited too. Happy’s cooking, so you know the food will be good.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, sounding surprised. “Yeah, that’d be great. Let me just make sure Rhodey doesn’t have other plans.”

“Great.” May opened the door. “And, Tony?”

“What?”

“Thank you. For helping Peter.”

“Anytime. Good night, May.”

“Good night, Tony.”

May closed the door and deadbolted it. Peter listened to Tony jog down the stairs and leave the building. He paused at the bottom –– probably checking for directions on his phone –– and then set off in the direction of the nearest subway station. 

“I know you’re awake, kiddo,” May said. 

Peter opened his eyes. “How do you always know?”

“It’s a gift.” She came and sat on the edge of the coffee table. “How’re you feeling?”

“Lousy. Did Happy leave?”

“Yeah, a couple hours ago,” May said. She pressed the back of her cool hand against Peter’s forehead, and nodded, looking satisfied. “I think he’s doing all right, just... processing. You want something to drink?”

“Yeah, probably a good idea.” He hadn’t had anything since the car. 

He sat up slowly, but his head already felt better. May slipped a pillow behind him, the went to get him a Gatorade out of the fridge. She cracked it open and handed it to him. 

Peter took a cautious first sip, then a longer one. “You invited Tony for Christmas.”

May shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a softie. I hope that was all right.”

“Yeah, definitely. Just... oh crap,” Peter said. “That means I have to figure out what to get him.”

May laughed quietly. “Honey, I think you could get him almost anything. He kind of left it all behind in the other universe.”

“I can’t just get him, like, a spatula or something. It has to _mean_ something.” 

“Hmm.” May looked thoughtful. “What about a Friend of Spiderman wristband? I’d say he earned one after tonight.”

“Oh.” Peter chewed on his lip. “You think so? They’re not... they’re just cheap silicone bands Ned bought on the internet.”

“Baby, you know that it doesn’t matter how much a gift cost. The sentiment matters much more. And I think Tony would very much appreciate the sentiment.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, leaning back against the cushions. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” May smiled, then reached out to cup his face in her hand. She rubbed her thumb over his cheekbone. “Your eyes already look a lot better. Do you want to stay out here or move to your bedroom?”

Peter smiled. “I’ll stay here.”

“Okay. Let me get you another blanket.” 

May fetched him the comforter off his bed and tucked it over him. Peter leaned back, cradling his bottle of Gatorade against his chest and watching as she went around the apartment, turning all the lights off, until it was just the Christmas tree, glowing softly. “Leave the tree?” he asked. 

“Christmas sap,” May said fondly, and kissed him on the forehead. “Holler if you need me.”

“Will do.” She went into her room and closed the door.

Peter finished his Gatorade and set the bottle on the coffee table. He shifted himself down on the sofa and rested his still-aching head on the pillow. He turned his head toward the tree, feeling drowsy and comfortable, despite the lingering itch under his skin. Hopefully in the morning, he’d be back to normal.

He closed his eyes. He could still see the lights of the tree, somehow. They followed him into his sleep, and for once, he didn’t have any nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments have been giving me life! Thank you all so much.


	5. Chapter 5

_I’m coming to the city for a meeting today_ , Pepper’s message read. _Care to meet up for some Christmas shopping at Bryant Park this afternoon?_

Tony stared down at the message. He hadn’t been expecting to hear from Pepper –– ever, maybe, but definitely not with an invitation to go Christmas shopping. But it wasn’t like his social calendar was overflowing; there was no good reason for him to say no, even if Pepper Potts made him feel more inadequate than anyone else in this universe –– with the possible exception of her daughter. 

**Sure** , Tony wrote back. **What time?**

_2 o’clock ok?_

**Sure.** Tony put down his phone and sat for a minute. He had a view of Grand Central from his hotel room window, and he watched the crowds streaming in and out. Then he took a deep breath and stood up. It wouldn’t do to meet up with Pepper unshowered and unshaven, after all. 

It was colder today, with possible snow in the forecast for that night. At least it made hiding his face easier. He wrapped a scarf around the lower half and put on a hat he’d picked up from a street cart the day before. It had a red pom pom similar to the one on the Rudolph sweater Rhodey had given him. He maintained that a pom pom might be the best disguise of all. No one would ever expect to see Tony Stark in a hat with a pom pom –– even if he wasn’t dead. 

That “no one” included Pepper Potts. She snorted with laughter when she saw him, and then put her hand over her mouth. “Sorry, sorry,” she said hastily. “I just –– the hat is very... fetching.”

“It matches,” Tony informed her, and unbuttoned his coat so she could see the sweater underneath. 

She laughed again. “Very festive.”

“Fetching and festive. I’ll take it.” Tony buttoned his coat back up. 

“I can’t argue with that,” Pepper agreed. She gestured toward the market. “Shall we, Mr. Stark?” She offered him her arm. 

Tony was so startled, it took him a moment to respond. “We shall, Ms. Potts,” he replied, taking her elbow lightly in his hand. 

Two days before Christmas, the market was busy, despite the bite in the air. They circled the ice rink, pausing to peer into the various kiosks selling handicrafts. Tony bought a fancy shaving set for Happy and a scented candle that turned into lotion when lit for May. Pepper looked but didn’t buy. She’d probably finished all her Christmas shopping weeks ago, which begged the question of why she’d asked him to come at all. 

Halfway around the rink, they paused at a kiosk with canvas-wrapped prints of the city. Tony’s eye was caught by a black and white of the Empire State Building, looking north toward the park. The only thing breaking up the monochromatic cityscape was a red and blue Spiderman, perched on top. 

Tony glanced at Pepper. “Do you think he’d like it?”

She pursed her lips. “Yes, but not the canvas one. He’s a teenager, you want him to give him something he can put up in his dorm room next year. Excuse me,” she said to the woman behind the counter. “Do you have any regular prints of the Spiderman photo?”

“Sure thing, right over here.” She flipped through a stack of photos and pulled one out for them. Tony paid for it, and she rolled it up and put it in a tube for him. He slipped it into his shopping bag. 

“Things must be going well with Peter, then,” Pepper said, as they continued their circuit. 

“I guess so. May invited me and Rhodey for Christmas Eve.”

“She mentioned that. I’m glad. I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Tony glanced at her. There was a faint tremor in her voice. “It’s okay, Pep,” he said gently. “You don’t have to take care of me. That’s not your job.”

She gave a weak laugh, then covered her eyes. “Dammit.”

They were standing at the east end of the park, near the bar and grill. Tony took her by the elbow and steered her toward it. 

Inside the restaurant, it was warm and dim. The bar was loud and crowded, but the dining room was relatively empty. Tony had forgotten to eat lunch, so he asked the maitre’d to seat them there. She gave them a table next to the window and withdrew with assurances that a waiter would be with them shortly. 

“This is so embarrassing,” Pepper murmured, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She drew a breath and sat up straight as the waiter approached. Tony ordered sparkling water; Pepper, after a glance at the menu, ordered a glass of white wine. 

“I’m really sorry,” she said, once the waiter had left. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”

“I don’t think that was ‘falling apart’ by anyone’s definition,” Tony replied. “But I have to say, I am pretty curious about why you asked to meet. Because I know it wasn’t that you needed to go Christmas shopping.”

Pepper shook her head. “You got me. I did want to come to the Christmas market, but you’re right, it wasn’t the only reason. I felt bad about how things went last weekend.”

Tony frowned. “Why? Pep, it’s not your fault I’m not the person you married ––”

“You are, though,” she interrupted. “You’re _so_ like him. Just a little less... baked.”

“Uh,” Tony said, taken aback.

Pepper laughed. “I mean in the cookie sense.”

That didn’t clear anything up, as far as Tony was concerned, but the waiter returned to take their food order. Pepper ordered the caprese, and Tony –– after a hasty consultation of the menu –– a Cobb salad. “And a half dozen oysters, for the table,” he added impulsively, catching sight of the item at the bottom of the menu. 

“You don’t even like oysters,” Pepper said, once the waiter had gone. 

“I don’t dislike them,” Tony said. “And you like them.”

She nodded, then shook her head, pressing her lips together. “You see,” she said, voice wobbling, “that’s what I mean. You _are_ like him. But he’d had other experiences, and he was... he was ready. We were both ready, finally. It took us a long time to get there. He was fully baked. You’re still sort of... raw in the middle.”

Tony nodded, looking down at his plate. 

“But you’re still him. It was... it was a little bit of a mind trip, seeing you. I don’t think I handled it well. I should have prepared you and Morgan more for each other.”

“Maybe,” Tony said, looking up, “but it’s like Peter said –– I’m not sure you could have.”

“Maybe not,” she conceded. “But I think I should have tried. Because I want you in our lives, Tony, I really do. No, listen,” she added when he started to open his mouth, “I mean it. Sometimes it’s a little hard to look at you, because I miss him terribly, and I always will. I’m not trying to replace him with you, for either me or Morgan. But I think it will get easier with time. And someday, Morgan is going to have a lot of questions. I can answer some. Rhodey and Peter can answer others. But some of them, I think only you will be able to answer.” She reached across the table and gripped Tony’s hand in both of hers. “I want that for her, if it’s okay with you.”

“It’s more than okay,” Tony said, feeling a little choked up. 

“Good. Great.” Pepper squeezed his hand one last time and let it go. She took a deep breath and dabbed at her eyes again. 

While she was pulling herself together, the waiter returned with the platter of oysters. Tony served her one, adding pickled onions and a dab of vinegar, the way she liked them. Then he fixed one for himself, with a spritz of lemon and a few of the pickled onions. 

She smiled at him, holding up the oyster in its shell. “To new beginnings?” she offered. 

“To new beginnings,” he confirmed, and they tapped their oyster shells against each other. 

It was much easier, with all the heavy emotional stuff out of the way. They demolished the oysters together, and then the waiter reappeared with their meals. Pepper ordered a second glass of wine. 

“So,” she said, slicing into her tomato and mozzarella. “I do have one other thing I’d like to talk about.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“R&D at SI has been a little... uninspired this year,” Pepper said, delicately. “A lot of folks were pretty devastated personally by Tony’s death, and then there was the trauma of the half the universe disappearing and reappearing. Holding people accountable for normal productivity standards under those circumstances seemed... well, evil, for lack of a better word. We had some things in the pipeline that we were able to ship, and that let us coast for a bit. But that’s pretty much over now.”

Tony could already see there this was going. “I’m not sure I want to work for SI, Pepper.”

Pepper didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow. “I thought that might be the case. But while you’re figuring out your next steps, I thought it might be mutually beneficial if we hired you on as an independent contractor.”

“Oh.” Tony blinked. “Really?”

“Yes. You can think about it, of course.”

Tony did think about it, glancing away to look out the window. It was incredibly generous of Pepper to offer. It would give him some runway while he decided what kind of life he wanted to lie in this universe, and it wasn’t charity if he was being paid for work he was doing for the company. “Are you sure?” he finally asked her. 

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“Then... yeah. That sounds great.”

She broke into a smile. “Fantastic. Now, I was also thinking –– you’re free to say no, of course, but I thought I might throw in some employee housing. As a signing bonus, if you will.”

“Pepper...”

“Hear me out. I have this place on the Upper East Side. It’s empty most of the time.”

Tony frowned. There was only one place she could possibly be talking about. “You mean Stark Mansion?”

“I do mean Stark Mansion.” Pepper laid her fork down and sat back in her seat. “We never lived there. Morgan and I stay there when we come down to the city, but otherwise it’s just standing empty.”

This decision was going to be harder. Tony had never lived in his childhood home as an adult in his universe either, and for probably similar reasons. The place had felt straight up haunted to him –– not by ghosts, of course, but by memories. After Howard had died, he’d gone back to visit his mother occasionally; once she was gone, too, he’d paid other people to clean it out and left it behind for good. 

“I don’t know if I can,” he admitted. 

“You certainly don’t have to,” she assured him. “But it seemed foolish not to offer. Think about it? The retinal scanner and other security protocols should work for you if you want to go take a look.”

Tony nodded. Maybe the place wouldn’t feel the same; after all, it wasn’t technically _his_ childhood home. The things that had happened there had happened to someone else. 

They finished their lunch. Pepper insisted on paying, but Tony told her that the next one was on him, as soon as the first check for his work as an independent contractor cleared. She called her driver, and he walked her out toward the street. 

“I’m glad I came down,” Pepper said, as they stood on the corner of 42nd and 5th, waiting for her car. 

“Me too.”

“I was thinking...” Pepper looked up at him. “Christmas is probably too much just yet, but New Year’s might not be.”

“Oh,” Tony said, surprised –– almost as surprised as he was by the next words out of his own mouth. “You know, my parents used to throw a rooftop party at the mansion every New Year’s Eve.”

“I remember Tony telling me that,” Pepper said. The corners of her eyes crinkled in a not-quite smile. “He said they were the only parties his parents threw that he ever enjoyed.”

“Yeah, because they were the only parties where they invited people they actually liked.”

“Hmm. Well, don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Pepper said. Her driver pulled up to the curb, and she gestured to him that she would be right there. “The mansion is in good shape, but I haven’t been above the second floor in a long time. And it’s already December 23rd.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” Tony opened the car door for her.

“I have all the faith in the world in you, Tony,” she replied, and went up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. “Take care. Stay in touch. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Pepper.” 

Pepper slid into the backseat, and Tony shut the door. The car pulled away from the curb and into the slow-moving Manhattan traffic. 

Tony stood on the sidewalk for a moment, then turned so he was facing north, up 5th Avenue. The mansion was twenty-two blocks from here –– less than a half hour’s walk, if he avoided the holiday crush around Rockefeller Center. 

He took his phone out of his pocket and texted Peter. **Hey kid, what are you up to**

_Hanging out with MJ_ , he wrote back almost immediately. _We’re videochatting Ned in a bit._

**Ok. If you have time later, swing by this address.** Tony gave Peter the address for the mansion. 

_Okay! It might be a while._

**No problem. Bring the girlfriend if you want.**

Peter sent him a thumbs up emoji. Tony slipped his phone back into his pocket and set off uptown. 

***

On the outside, Stark Mansion was exactly as Tony remembered it from his own universe. Four stories tall and rather narrow, snugged up against its neighbors, it was a remnant of New York’s Gilded Age. It wasn’t as impressively large as some of the other mansions on 5th Avenue, but it had plenty of Victorian filigree on the outside. Howard had bought it after the war, then promptly moved the business to California; it’d sat empty until he’d married Maria twenty years later. By the time Tony came along, she’d renovated it, and it had become the center of their social life in New York. 

Inside, he definitely noticed some differences. Wallpaper and knickknacks had been swapped out, possibly by Pepper. The kitchen had been updated sometime in the last ten years, and two bedrooms on the first floor had been redone, one of them obviously for a young girl. The glass-enclosed conservatory in the back, where Maria had had a piano, was lovingly preserved –– though the piano itself was missing. 

The second floor, where Tony and his parents had had their private rooms, was clean but apparently not in use. Tony opened the door to what had once been his father’s study and shut it hastily; it was similar enough on the surface and contained only bad memories. His mother’s dressing room was much the same as it had been in his universe, though he’d had her clothes moved out and stored. This universe’s Tony hadn’t, it seemed; they still hung in the wardrobe. 

His other self had been younger when he’d lost his parents, Tony recalled. They’d died at the same time –– murdered, in this universe, which made Tony wonder about Howard’s plane crash. Stane could have been behind it, or God knew Howard had had other enemies. An unsolvable mystery, now. But it made sense that this universe’s Tony had never gotten around to dealing with his parents’ things the way that Tony himself, older if possibly no wiser, had done in his own universe. 

His own childhood bedroom, in contrast, looked pretty barren. It was obvious that no one had stayed there in a long time. Tony stood for a moment at the window, looking out at the view of 5th Avenue that had once been as familiar to him as his own name spoken in his mother’s voice. The entrance to Central Park was the same as ever, and so was the steady stream of bikers and joggers and tourists streaming in and out. But the skyline visible over the treetops was different, courtesy of the Chitauri invasion. 

He couldn’t imagine spending even one night in this room, he decided. He left, pulling the door shut behind him. 

He climbed the stairs to the third floor slowly. In his universe, it had belonged to Jarvis and Ana. It was the only place in the house where he’d ever felt genuinely happy and at home. He’d spent many afternoons while his parents were gone sitting at the kitchen table, helping Ana make pierogies.

He opened the door, worried somehow that it might be different. It wasn’t. It was the same as he remembered. It even smelled the same, albeit a little musty. The rooms were smaller, the ceiling a couple inches lower than the rest of the house, but it was a complete apartment, with two bedrooms, a sitting room with the same view as Tony’s bedroom below, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. 

No one had touched these rooms in years. The appliances were from the ‘80s and so was the wallpaper. There was some water damage, too, creeping down in one corner of the living room, from the fourth floor attic. 

“Gonna have to get that fixed,” Tony muttered to himself aloud, and then paused. “Huh.”

By the time Peter and his girlfriend showed up a couple hours later, Tony had ripped up the dated and mildewed carpet in the master bedroom to see what was underneath and started making a list of everything that needed to be done. He’d texted Pepper, too, aware that this wasn’t really his house, and gotten her go-ahead to do anything that didn’t require a permit from the city. 

_Spend whatever you need, we’ll work it out later_ , she told him. _It’s not like money is an issue. But for God’s sake, if it’s plumbing or electrical, HIRE A PROFESSIONAL._

Tony rolled his eyes, He had a degree in mechanical engineering from MIT, he was pretty sure he could handle anything that came up. On the other hand, if something _did_ go wrong, it would be good to have someone else to blame.

He’d told Peter to come in by way of the roof, so he wasn’t startled when there was a _thump_ overhead, followed by Peter’s voice calling out, “Tony?”

“Hang on!” Tony called back. He jogged up the stairs to the roof and opened the door. “Welcome to Stark Mansion, Peter and Peter’s girlfriend.”

Peter pulled off his mask. His girlfriend, a little out of breath and frizzy after apparently hitching a ride, nevertheless eyed Tony with frank skepticism. “Michelle Jones,” she said pointedly. 

“Nice to meet you, Michelle Jones,” Tony replied. 

“Wait,” Peter said. “This is where you grew up?”

“Well, not me specifically ––”

“Right, right, sorry ––”

“–– but yeah. This is the Stark family homestead. Come on in.”

“I didn’t even know this was here,” Peter said, as they all descended the stairs together, past the attic and down to the third floor. “Has this place just been sitting here, empty?”

“Not empty-empty. Pepper and Morgan stay on the first floor when they come to the city.”

“Oh.” Peter frowned. “I guess we’ve always met them places, or they’ve come to us. Still, this is like... a whole house. In Manhattan.”

“He’s got a point,” Michelle said. “You know there’s a housing crisis in this city, right? And it’s partly because rich people gobble up anything that isn’t falling apart at the seams and then just let it sit empty half the time.”

“Well, I’m not going to let it sit empty,” Tony said, and opened the door to the apartment on the third floor. “I’m going to live here.”

The two of them were silent, taking in the not-terribly-impressive living room. Michelle went and peeked into the bedroom, and stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. “You know what,” she finally said, “I take it back.”

“I know it doesn’t look like much,” Tony said. “This floor belonged to our butler, Jarvis, and his wife Ana. They basically raised me, since God knows my parents couldn’t be bothered. What do you think?”

“I mean, I think it’s great,” Peter said. “Just kind of... not what I expected. It’s cozy, but that’s never really been your thing. Your apartment at the compound was all glass and stainless steel.”

“Rich people minimalism,” Michelle said cynically. 

“I can’t argue with that,” Tony admitted. That had been his aesthetic in his universe, too. “But this feels right. It feels like enough. And yes, before you say a word, I know that that’s not really a concept I was ever acquainted with before. I’m not sure it’ll stick, but I might as well try it out. Plus, it’s not like I’m going to leave it like this. That wallpaper is hideous, and there’s hardwood under all this shitty carpet.”

“Also, your ceiling might cave in,” Michelle pointed out, looking up at the water damage. 

“Also that,” Tony agreed. 

He gave them a quick tour of the rest of the house, mostly skipping the second floor. He could tell that made them both extra curious about it, but when Michelle opened her mouth to ask, Peter shot her a look. She subsided, with only a single glance over her shoulder as they continued downward. 

It was dinnertime by then. Tony ordered a truly insane amount of Chinese food and the three of them ate it at Jarvis and Ana’s kitchen table. Michelle was hilarious in a dry sort of way, and Peter obviously adored her. She wore her heart less on her sleeve, but Tony was pretty sure she adored him right back. She wasn’t afraid to tease Tony, either, and that was kind of novel. Usually only his very closest friends felt comfortable enough to give him the kind of shit Michelle Jones dished out. 

“I should go,” Michelle said, once dinner was over. “My parents are making noises about not seeing me enough.”

“Want a ride?” Peter asked. 

She laughed and shook her head. “No, babe, I can’t do shots of pure adrenaline this late in the day, I’ll never sleep.”

“It’s not that bad,” Peter said, a little plaintively. 

“It absolutely is that bad,” Michelle replied, but she was smiling. She glanced at Tony and crossed her arms over her chest. “Listen, Stark, I was nice to you this time. But I have some questions about the existence of the billionaire class and its stranglehold on our political system that I’m saving for next time.”

“I’ll study up,” Tony promised. 

“Good.” Michelle looked at Peter. “Walk me out?”

“Sure,” Peter said. 

The two of them headed downstairs. Tony gathered up the garbage from the Chinese food and put the leftovers into a box to send home with Peter. The kid was always starving, he’d quickly figured out. 

He was wiping down the table with some paper towels he’d found in a cupboard when Peter returned. Peter sat down in one of the kitchen chairs and put his feet up on another. He was quiet, which Tony was quickly learning meant something was bothering him. Otherwise, the kid never shut up. 

“What’s up, Pete?” Tony finally asked. 

Peter shook his head. “Nothing. Just... I never got to introduce MJ and Mr. Stark. I always wondered what he would’ve thought of her.”

“Well, I know I’m not him, but I think she’s great,” Tony said, sitting down across from Peter. “Slightly terrifying, but you’ve met Pepper, so you know that’s a point in her favor as far as I’m concerned.”

Peter nodded. He looked down for a moment, fiddling with one of his web shooters. “She liked you more than she thought she would.”

Tony smirked. “Meaning she hasn’t immediately scheduled me for the guillotine?”

Peter grinned. “Not immediately. Jury’s still out, I think.”

They fell silent briefly. After a moment, Peter brought his feet down. “I should go, too, I guess. But I just wanted to say –– I think it’s great that you’re going to live here. I know we were kind of giving you a hard time, but this place is really nice.”

“Really?” Tony said, a little skeptically.

“Yeah! It’s homey, you know? I liked the compound, don’t get me wrong, but it always kind of felt more like a fancy hotel than a home. One question, though. What about a workshop?”

“I was thinking about the attic, if I can bring the wiring up to code and run water up there.”

Peter nodded. “You going to wire in FRIDAY?”

Tony had met FRIDAY at the lake house. He’d never created her in his own universe, and his version of JARVIS had never been destroyed. She seemed as nice as anything Tony created ever could be –– meaning that she was a sarcastic little shit –– but she wasn’t what Tony was used to. 

“I was actually thinking about trying to rebuild a version of JARVIS,” he said.

Peter’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah. It seems fitting, all things considered.”

“Right,” Peter said. “You must’ve –– I mean, you both must’ve modeled the AI JARVIS on the real Jarvis, right?”

“Yep. I understand why my other self didn’t try to rebuild him, but if I can find the original base code, which I’m sure still exists somewhere, I’d like to. Want to help?”

Peter’s mouth dropped open a little. “Help you build an AI? Um. _Hell yes_ , that sounds awesome.”

“Then let’s do it, kid. After the holidays.”

“Can my friend Ned help? He loves that sort of thing. He’s way better at programming than me.”

“Sure, the more the merrier. We’ll make it a party.”

Peter shook his head, eyes still wide and disbelieving. “Oh my God, Ned is going to lose his mind –– um. I should probably warn you, he has, like, _no_ chill at all. But he’s super smart.”

“Super smart, no chill. Sounds like fun.” Tony glanced at the clock and winced. “Come on, I’d better send you home before your aunt has my hide.”

They went up to the roof together. It was a cold night, with possible snow on the horizon over the holiday. It smelled like snow, somehow, and the air had that telltale edge to it. “Your heater working all right?” Tony asked Peter as he pulled his mask back on.

“Yeah, it’s been great ever since we replaced the chip.”

“Okay. Text me when you get home?”

Peter seemed surprised, though it was hard to tell behind the mask. “Sure, Tony,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

“We’ll be there at four, with panettone, as instructed.”

Peter shot a web off the roof and swung down after it. Tony watched, heart in the back of his throat, until he shot another web and it connected. He arched gracefully through the air, all awkwardness gone. He hadn’t been born to do this, Tony thought, but he had been _made_ for it. 

He took his phone out of his pocket and opened up his conversation with May Parker. 

**How do you do it?** he asked her. **How are you not terrified for him all the time?**

It only took a few seconds for the three dots to appear, indicating she was typing. _I am_ , she replied. _Always. But what’s the alternative? Letting him go it alone because I’m scared of losing him? I’d never forgive myself._

Tony swallowed. Peter was no longer visible, swallowed up by the city. It was no longer a choice he was making, Tony realized then. He was in too deep to walk away now from Peter Parker. From this universe at all, really, but especially from Peter. It was startling how fast it had happened. He almost hadn’t noticed. 

**I get it** , he told May. 

_You’re starting to. We’ll see you tomorrow, right? Don’t forget the panettone!_

**Wouldn’t dream of it** , Tony assured her, and slipped his phone back into his pocket.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking with me and commenting! And thanks to my intrepid betas, whumphoarder and Fuzzyboo.

Christmas Eve day dawned cloudy and cold. According to Peter’s phone, there was a fifty percent chance of snow by that evening. But there wasn’t any falling yet when he put his suit on and slipped out his bedroom window just after breakfast. 

He’d told May that he wanted to patrol, and he did; he was going to be gone for the next few days, up at the lake house, so this was his last chance for a while. But he had a very particular destination in mind as he swung through the streets of Queens. He helped a couple of people along the way: one harried father whose puppy –– a Christmas gift to his kids –– had escaped its crate; an older woman who needed help crossing an icy intersection; and a very hungover guy in a Santa suit who’d lost his phone and needed someone to call him a cab. They were all very grateful and wished him a happy holiday, and Peter went away feeling good about himself. 

His destination was one of the Iron Man murals. It was the one he saw most often, since it was on his side of the river. In the beginning, it had hurt to look at it. Sometimes it still did, if Peter was honest. But in the last couple of months, he’d started smiling when he saw it; sometimes he even called out, “Hey, Mr. Stark” as he swung past it. With everything that had changed in the last two weeks, Peter found himself wanting to visit. 

He got a cup of coffee, a breakfast sandwich, and a donut from the Dunkin’ on the corner and juggled them carefully as he climbed up to sit on the edge of the building next to the mural. It gave him the best view and mostly blocked him from prying eyes. He still didn’t remove his mask altogether, just pulled the bottom part of it up so he could eat. 

“Hey, Mr. Stark,” he said, as he took the first sip of his coffee. He unwrapped his breakfast sandwich and took a bite, chewing it thoughtfully. He swallowed. “You might be wondering why I came by. I wanted to say hey, but I also wanted to talk to you about some stuff that’s been happening.”

He paused to take another sip of coffee and try to gather his thoughts. He hadn’t really thought through what he’d say. He’d just felt like it was something he had to do, especially after leaving Stark Mansion the night before. Seeing Tony there, hearing him talk about what he was planning to do with the place, had made Peter realize that this wasn’t going to go away. Tony was part of his universe now. 

“So, uh, if you can hear this, you probably know the whole story, and if you can’t hear this, then I guess you don’t care. But, um. It looks like Tony is here to stay,” Peter finally said. “It’s not really like having you back –– he’s not you, not really –– but it makes me happy, spending time with him, just like spending time with you made me happy. And I think you’d want that. I don’t think you’d be jealous or anything. But I did want to tell you...” 

Peter had to stop again. He took a sip of his coffee, but it didn’t really help. His throat was still aching with unshed tears.

“I wanted to tell you that I still really miss you,” Peter finally said, voice cracking. “I still wish you were here, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop wishing that you’d made some other choice. I know you probably thought there weren’t any other choices, but... well. I guess it doesn’t matter now. The point is that having him here hasn’t made me stop wishing you were, too. Even though I’m not sure one universe could handle two Tony Starks,” he added with a shaky laugh. “I know, I can just hear you saying that it’d be double the awesomeness, but it’d also be double the explosions. You were always pretty lax about lab safety.”

He took a deep breath. He could feel the tears on his cheeks soaking into the fabric of his suit, but he felt better. He ate the last of his breakfast sandwich in three bites, and washed it down with the coffee –– lukewarm now, even though he hadn’t been up here very long, because of how cold it was. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, drawing a deep breath. “I’ll still come visit. You’re my OG Tony Stark.”

 _And don’t you forget it, kid_ , he could almost hear Mr. Stark saying. But he was smiling, not stern. He was –– at least in Peter’s head –– happy for him. 

He ate his donut and drank the rest of his coffee in silence, listening to the wind whipping between the buildings. He was toasty warm in his suit, with the heater that he and Tony had fixed together going fullblast, but it still made him want to be home, in his nice warm apartment, where Happy had probably started cooking already. 

He balled the wrappers up and stuck them in his coffee cup, so he could throw them out at home, and stood up. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Stark. I hope wherever you are, you’re having a good one. Keep an eye on the city for me while I’m gone, all right? And don’t worry, I’ll give Mo a big hug and a kiss for you.”

That seemed all there was to say. Peter shot out a web and launched himself off the edge of the building, swinging towards home. 

The apartment was warm and smelled like the cranberry sauce that Happy was simmering on the stove when Peter came through the window. He changed out of his suit and into jeans and a hoodie and went to help. Happy put him on onion chopping duty. May was in her bedroom, doing some last minute gift wrapping. 

“You doing all right, kid?” Happy asked after a couple minutes of working in silence. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, a little surprised at the question. He wondered if Happy knew where he’d gone that morning. “Why?”

“No reason,” Happy said, shaking his head. “Just, you know... there’s been a lot going on.”

“Yeah, but I think I’m doing okay with it. How are _you_ doing with it?” Peter asked, side-eyeing Happy. 

“It’s weird as hell, I’m not gonna lie,” Happy said. “I can’t quite get over feeling like it’s... disloyal, I guess, to let him into our lives. But it seems like it’s important to you and Rhodey, and even Pepper. So I’m trying.”

Peter nodded. “I think the more you’ll get to know him, the more he’ll feel like a different person to you. That’s kind of how it felt to me, anyway –– at first, all I could focus on were the things that were the same, but the more time I spend with him, the more I can see all the ways they’re different.”

Happy grunted. “That’s pretty smart, you know?”

“I have my moments.”

“Yeah, kid,” Happy said, and gave Peter a fond smile, “yeah, you do.” He passed Peter a tupperware container with a lid. “Hey, put those onions in here, so they’ll keep until we want to use them. Then start on the celery.” 

Peter swept the onions into the container, sealed it, and started chopping celery. 

By four o’clock, when Tony and Rhodey were due to arrive, the apartment smelled like turkey and stuffing and herbs. Peter and May had been banished to the sofa for their annual rewatch of _It’s a Wonderful Life_ , which Peter was determined would not make him cry _this_ year. May was already kind of tipsy, having had her first mug of the mulled wine that was keeping warm on the stove. 

To everyone’s surprise, the promised snow had materialized –– it was mostly flurries and nothing was sticking yet, but Peter hoped they might at least get a little bit of a dusting. He could count the number of snowy Christmasses he’d seen on one hand, but it made everything feel just a little more magical. 

Peter paused the movie when the doorbell rang and jumped up to answer it. “Merry Christmas!” he said, opening the door to Rhodey and Tony. They were both wearing hideous Christmas sweaters; Rhodey was carrying a box that Peter hoped for their sakes contained May’s requested panettone, and Tony was lugging a lumpy bag that probably had gifts in it. 

“Merry Christmas, kid,” Tony said, as Peter stood aside to let them in. “Wow, it smells great in here.”

“That’s all Happy,” May said, standing up to welcome them. “Peter can tell you about the year I burned Christmas dinner to a crisp and we ended up at a diner.”

“That was a good year!” Peter insisted. “I got to have mac and cheese.”

“He was a very forgiving child,” May told Tony and Rhodey. 

“I believe that,” Tony said. “Mind if I put these under the tree?”

“Of course, go ahead,” May said, waving him on. 

“Want some help, Happy?” Rhodey asked. 

“From you? Yes. Everyone else should stay far away from any and all food preparation,” Happy said, pointing his spatula at May, Peter, and Tony in turn. 

“You let me chop onions earlier,” Peter pointed out. 

“Yes, but that was when there was only one of you. Now there’s three. I don’t need that kind of chaotic energy in my kitchen.”

“Fair enough,” Peter said, and flopped back down on the sofa. May sat down on his right, and Tony, after a moment of hesitation, on his left. “We’re watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ ,” he told Tony. “Is that okay with you?”

“I sense that this is largely a rhetorical question,” Tony said. “But yeah, it’s fine.”

“Peter always cries,” May told him over Peter’s head. 

“I don’t _always_ cry,” Peter said. 

“It’s okay, honey, it’s endearing. I love that you feel things deeply.”

Peter grumbled but he couldn’t really argue the point. He turned the movie back on instead and leaned against May, resting his head on her shoulder. The apartment was extra warm from the oven having been on all afternoon, and the snow had finally started to stick, piling up on the ledge outside. Peter watched it for a few seconds before looking back toward the TV.

He did cry at the end of the movie. So did May, which might’ve been the wine, or because of the movie, or because it’d been Ben’s favorite. But the real surprise, for Peter, was when he looked over and saw Tony wiping away a tear or two. 

“Dust,” he said when he caught Peter looking. “Just dust. Hey, when’s dinner going to be ready?” he added, launching himself off the sofa. 

Peter glanced at May. May shook her head, smiled knowingly, and put her arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer. 

Dinner was delicious. Turkey wasn’t Peter’s favorite thing in the world, but Happy had brined it for two days and basted the hell out of it, so it wasn’t dry at all. His stuffing was even better, in Peter’s opinion; he ate three helpings of it, plus a mountain of mashed potatoes. He didn’t really get full very often anymore, what with the super fast metabolism, but at the end of the meal, all he wanted was to flop on the sofa and slide into a food coma. 

Everyone else seemed to have the same idea. Happy claimed the old beat-up recliner they’d inherited from a neighbor who was moving, and May sat on his lap, ignoring his groan of protest. Rhodey sprawled out on the floor, and Tony prodded Peter into moving his feet so he could sit on the sofa with him. Peter grumbled and sat up against the arm of the sofa. 

“Peter,” May said after a minute or two. 

“Mmph?”

“You’re on present duty.”

“Noooo,” Peter groaned. 

“Yep. Come on. You’re the youngest.”

“I’m making Morgan do this tomorrow,” Peter sighed as he got up to fetch a present for each of them from under the tree.

It was, without a doubt, the laziest present-opening he’d ever been a part of, but that was probably for the best, since tomorrow morning at the lake house was going to be insane. Peter opened his annual pair of Christmas socks from May, a really nice watch from Happy that he became instantly paranoid about losing, and an MIT sweatshirt from Rhodey to add to his growing collection. 

“Nice threads, kid,” Tony said, when Peter pulled the sweatshirt over his head. 

“I hope it’s not tempting fate,” Peter said. “I applied for early admission, but I haven’t heard yet.”

“Ehhh, you’re a shoo-in,” Happy said. 

“No one’s a shoo-in to MIT, Happy,” Peter said with a grimace. No matter how many times he said that, they never seemed to believe him. Pepper had written him a really nice letter of recommendation, though, talking about the internship he’d done with Mr. Stark, so he did think he had a shot. 

“Open mine next,” Tony said, leaning over to fetch a cylindrical present from under the tree. It was wrapped kind of like a Tootsie Roll, with the ends twisted and tied off with too much tape and way more ribbon than was necessary. And it’d been rolled at least five times over in wrapping paper, too, Peter discovered. He eventually managed to break through the layers of wrapping, tape, and ribbon to uncover a cardboard tube. He popped the end off and pulled out a print of the city, black and white except for a red and blue Spiderman, perched on top of the Empire State Building. 

“Oh wow, that’s so cool,” Peter breathed. “Where did you find it?”

“The Bryant Park market,” Tony said. “You like it?”

“Yeah, it’s awesome! Thanks.”

“You can put it up in your dorm room at MIT next year,” Tony said. “A little piece of the city.”

“I definitely will. Thanks.” Peter swallowed, then glanced at May. She was busy admiring the necklace Happy had given her, but she must have felt him watching her, but she glanced up and gave him a smile. “Here, open mine,” he said, and got up to fetch it from the very back. It seemed stupidly small now. “It’s not much,” he said, handing it over, “but it was kind of hard to think of something, and May thought it was a good idea, so...” He watched nervously as Tony tore the paper off and then took the lid off the box. 

The wristmand inside was blue with red letters. “FOS?” Tony read aloud.

“Friend of Spiderman,” Peter said. “MJ and Ned and May all have them. Happy does, too, don’t let him tell you otherwise. It’s just a silly thing, you don’t have to wear it ––”

“I love it, Pete,” Tony said, and immediately put it on. “It’s perfect. Thanks.”

“Oh,” Peter said, and felt the tips of his ears turn red. “Um. You’re welcome.” 

“All right,” Rhodey said, getting to his feet. “Are we ready for dessert or what?”

There was a chorus of affirmative answers. May got up to help serve the sweet potato pie Happy had made and the panettone that Tony and Rhodey had brought. Peter put his Christmas socks on and wriggled his toes, feeling satisfied with his world in a way he hadn’t felt in years. The little glow of happiness in his chest had become something he could never fully trust, because it’d been taken away from him so often. But for the moment, at least, he did. 

“Hey kid,” Tony said, tapping his foot. 

“What?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Peter grinned. “Merry Christmas, Tony.”

***

They left for the lake house way too early the next morning, almost before the sun was up. Peter barely opened his eyes as he got dressed, and then he crawled in the backseat and passed out again. He woke up again halfway to the lake house, just in time for them to stop at a McDonalds for Egg McMuffins and enormous coffees. Peter ate his while watching the increasingly snowy scenery slide by outside. This was serious countryside, and the snow was completely intact, sparkling under the weak winter sunshine, instead of the slushy gray mess it always became in the city. 

The driveway up to the house wasn’t plowed yet, so they had to make use of Happy’s four wheel drive. Peter had the feeling he was going to get stuck with shoveling duty, but hopefully not until later that day, or even tomorrow. None of them were going anywhere for a bit. 

“PETER!” he heard Morgan shout as Happy parked the car. Peter opened his door and she came flying down the steps. She was dressed in Christmas jammies, her warmest coat, and snow boots. She threw herself into his arms. “MERRY CHRISTMAS!” she shouted, right in his ear.

“Yikes, Mo, super hearing, remember?”

“Sorry, sorry.” She leaned in and whispered, “Merry Christmas.”

He laughed. “Merry Christmas, mongoose. Have you been up since dawn?”

“ _Before_ dawn,” she said. “But I couldn’t wake Mama up until 6:30.”

“Did you open all your presents without us?”

“No, just my stocking.”

“Oooh, what’d you get?” Peter shifted her over to his hip with one arm and accepted the bag of presents May handed him with the other. 

“I got three kinds of coconut lipstick, and chocolate, and scrunchies, and fingernail polish with sparkles. Can I paint your nails later?”

“Sure.”

“Yaaaaaaay! And can we go ice skating?”

“Maybe,” Peter said, glancing over his shoulder toward the lake. “Not sure it’s frozen enough yet.”

She pouted. “Snowshoeing?”

“Sure.”

“Can I ride on your shoulders?”

“Morgan, for goodness sake,” Pepper said from the doorway of the house. “Peter’s only been here for two minutes and you already have him agreeing to serve as your pack mule. Merry Christmas, Peter.”

“Merry Christmas, Pepper,” Peter said with a grin. Morgan wriggled down, which left him an arm free to hug her with. 

“Come on in, I just pulled an egg casserole out of the oven, and there’s cinnamon rolls, too. Hi May, hi Happy, Merry Christmas.”

Peter moved aside so Pepper could hug May and Happy. He took the bag of presents into the living room and started putting them under the tree. Morgan came and crouched down, eyes wide. She had a smear of frosting on her upper lip. “Can we open presents now?”

“Soon,” Peter said. “Let me get something to eat first, okay?”

She heaved a huge, put-upon sigh, but she waited, fidgeting, while everyone took their luggage into their rooms and made up plates with eggs, cinnamon rolls, and fruit. She shook her head to the eggs but stole a blueberry off the edge of Peter’s plate when he sat down next to her. “ _Now_?” she demanded. 

“Yes, now,” Pepper said, smiling. “Go pick out a present for each one of us, honey.”

Morgan jumped up and sprinted for the tree. 

Peter had gotten Morgan the latest Spiderman action figure –– it wasn’t even out yet, technically –– and a couple of new books for them to read together. She’d painted him a mug that said “Best Brother Ever” in red and blue letters, and drawn him a picture of the two of them together, which Pepper had put in a frame. Pepper and May had gotten him a couple of games for the Nintendo Switch that had been his birthday present, including the most recent Animal Crossing. 

“Can we play that later?” Morgan asked, peering at the box. 

“Sure,” Peter said. “I’ll show you how.”

“After snowshoeing?”

Peter grinned. “After snowshoeing.”

It took less than forty-five minutes for the presents under the tree to disappear entirely. Morgan was a hyped-up ball of energy, zooming around the living room, while Happy, Pepper, and May all looked like they were on the verge of falling asleep on the sofa. Peter wouldn’t have minded stretching out in front of the fire for a bit, but instead he made coffee and put it in a thermos, then went upstairs to layer his suit underneath a pair of jeans and the MIT sweatshirt Rhodey had given him. Then he helped Morgan put on long underwear and snow pants.

“Don’t get too cold, all right?” Pepper said, when they trooped back downstairs. “I’ll have hot chocolate waiting for you when you get back.”

“Thanks, Pepper.” Peter said. He put a warm hat and gloves on, made sure Morgan had the same, and off the two of them went. 

He did let Morgan ride on his shoulders. She grabbed hold of his ears and pulled on them to “steer” him in one direction or another as they set off on the trail around the lake. He made a lot of meandering loops while she giggled. 

About halfway down the shoreline, they reached a flat rock that they used for picnics in the summer. Peter called a break and sat down with his thermos of coffee, while Morgan started making snowballs and building a mini snowman on the rock. 

Peter took a deep breath of cold air. It was always quiet out here, but the snow muffled everything. He could hear things if he really listened hard –– the snap of a twig, snow falling off a branch, a bird ruffling its feathers –– but mostly it was just peaceful and quiet. 

Until Morgan asked, “Do you miss Daddy?” 

Peter startled, then looked at her sharply. Where had that come from? “Of course, Mo. Always.”

She poked a twig into the middle snowball of her tiny snowman. “I wish he was here.”

“Me too, mongoose. I wish my Uncle Ben was here, too. But it’s been a good day, right? We had a nice morning, you got lots of presents...”

She nodded, but she wouldn’t look at him. Peter waited her out, a trick he’d learned from May, who’d used it on him many times over the years. 

“Mama says we’re gonna come to the city next week. For New Year’s,” Morgan finally said. “She says we’re gonna see... Tony.”

The way she said Tony’s name was funny, like she was testing it out and wasn’t at all sure she liked it. 

“Yeah, I think he’s going to have a New Year’s party,” Peter said. “May and Happy and I are coming, too. It’ll be fun. We can drink sparkling apple cider and stay up super late.”

“How late?” Morgan asked, eyes widening. 

Peter winced internally, hoping he hadn’t just created a monster. “You’ll have to ask your mom.”

“Like... ten?” 

“Maybe like ten,” Peter conceded. “Ask your mom, okay?”

“Okay.” She poked eye holes carefully into her snowman’s head. “I guess that sounds like fun. Can we go to the park?”

“Sure, kiddo. We haven’t been to the zoo in a while.”

Her face brightened. “Or ice skating!”

“Yeah, we’ll go ice skating for sure.”

Morgan nodded, looking happier. She stepped back and looked at her snowman with satisfaction. “All done,” she declared. 

“Nice job. Does he have a name?”

Morgan frowned. “Stan,” she finally said. 

“Stan the snowman,” Peter said, smiling. “I like it. You ready to head back?”

She nodded. He picked her up and put her on his shoulders and started the trek back along the lakeshore. He didn’t dawdle this time, not wanting to get caught out here when it got dark. It was later than he’d thought, and the sun went down so early this time of year. Morgan was quiet, no more pulling on Peter’s ears. Peter thought she might have finally tired herself out. 

They reached the house safely. Peter put the snowshoes away and helped Morgan feed Gerald. Even from outside, he could smell dinner cooking in the oven and the hot chocolate that Pepper had promised them. His stomach growled. 

“Come on, then,” he said, taking her hand. “Hot chocolate awaits.”

“Wait,” she said, hand tightening on his. He stopped and looked at her. “Do you miss Daddy?”

Peter frowned. He crouched down in front of her, so he was on her level. “You asked me that before. Of course I do.”

“No, but do you _really_ miss him? Like before? Even though... even though...”

_Even though Tony is here._

“Oh Morgan,” Peter breathed. “Yes. I really miss him. No one is going to replace him. Not even Tony.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Promise?”

“Promise.” Peter opened his arms, and she rushed into them. He wrapped her up tight and stood up, swinging her around. She laughed, wrapping all four limbs around his torso, and buried her face in his neck. “Love you three thousand.”

“Love _you_ four thousand,” she replied, muffled. 

“Always gotta one-up me, don’t you?” Peter said. He squeezed her again, careful not to overdo it. He wondered then if she hadn’t been just afraid that Peter might forget Mr. Stark, but if –– somewhere in her still very young brain –– she’d thought that if he forgot Mr. Stark, he might forget her, too. As if he ever could. “You will always be my favorite mongoose.”

“And you’re my favorite spider.”

He turned his face and kissed her forehead. “Ready for some hot chocolate?”

She nodded, and he set her down. He held his hand out, and she slipped her gloved hand into his. Together, they went inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing Peter and Morgan. :)
> 
> Just one more chapter tomorrow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to whumphoarder and Fuzzyboo for the help with this final chapter. 
> 
> Whew. This was a fun one. Thanks to everyone who's been commenting.

Pepper had been right about the logistics of pulling together a last minute New Year’s party on the roof of the mansion, but Tony was nothing if not determined. He managed to procure some heat lamps from a stash of old Stark Industries party supplies and ordered the food from a gyro place in the city that Peter said his other self had liked. There was no reason to go fancy, really, if it was just the handful of people who knew the truth about him.

And yes, Tony decided that did include Nick Fury and Stephen Strange, much to his annoyance. Fury RSVP’d no, but Strange said he’d be there. 

As for the decoration, Tony enlisted the help of Peter and his friends for that. He and Peter spent an afternoon cleaning up the rooftop and making sure nothing was going to cave in. The water damage in his apartment was old, he was relieved to see, and the pipe itself had been repaired, if not the actual damage. Once he was satisfied about that, and the roof looked clean, if barren, Peter called Michelle and his friend Ned, who’d come back to the city after Christmas, and they came over to help. 

Michelle came armed with about a million strands of lights. “Normally, I’d think these are kind of basic,” she said, “but they do make almost anything look festive.”

“I’ll take it,” Tony said. “Ned and Peter, can you go down to the basement and see if there’s anything there we can use? Tables, chairs, stray Christmas decorations... I honestly have no fucking clue what you might find.”

“Whoa,” Ned said. 

“What?”

“It’s just –– the other you never actually said my name. I was always Ted or Ed or Fred or something.”

“Oh.” Tony paused. “I mean, I can do that if you prefer ––”

“No! Ned’s great. Um. Okay. Basement?”

“Four floors down, you can’t miss it.”

Peter and Ned clattered down the stairs, already jabbering away to each other. Tony realized rather belatedly that this left him alone with Michelle. She was unwinding a strand of lights to start hanging from the portico that was somehow still structurally sound after all these years. Though Tony supposed he should have expected as much from anything Howard built. He was an asshole, but he built shit to last. 

“So, uh...”

“You’re sticking around, right?” Michelle asked abruptly. 

Tony blinked. “That’s the plan.”

“No, but really. You’re not planning to take off, right? Because that would really fuck Peter up, and then I might have to track you down and I promise you wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere.” 

“Good. Peter’s had a lot of people leave him. Don’t be the next one, all right?”

“I hope very much that I won’t be,” Tony said. “I’m not sure anyone can promise more than that.”

“Fair point.”

“Thanks. You want the stepstool?”

“Yeah. Here, hold this.” She handed him the rest of the strand of lights, and climbed up on the stepstool. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I have some questions for you. Like I promised.”

Tony braced himself. “Shoot.”

“Why does anyone need to be a billionaire? Wouldn’t we all be better off if, like, anything over a hundred million dollars –– which is already a _lot_ of money –– was taxed at a hundred percent and used to fund education, transportation, and medical research –– plus, you know, end poverty and hunger?”

Tony stared up at her. “You want a hundred percent wealth tax over a hundred million dollars?”

She shrugged. “What I want is for you to explain to me why it’s not a good idea.”

It was a serious question, Tony sensed. He thought about it for a few seconds. “Well, if nothing else, people will game any system they decide is unfair.”

“People already game the system. How much do you have in offshore accounts right now?”

“Me? Nothing.”

“You know what I mean.” She tugged on the strand of lights, and Tony let her have some more. “Rich people love setting up foundations and buying hospital wings they can put their names on, but they hate taxes. But guess what? Paying your fucking taxes and letting the government distribute the money would do a hell of a lot more than some fancy foundation that holds a charity gala once a year.”

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it again. “You’re not wrong.”

“I know I’m not,” she said, looking down at him from her perch on the stepstool. “I’m also not stupid, I know that lots of people would hate it, and not just billionaires. But you’re not stupid either, so you have to understand that the system is failing too many people, and if nothing changes, it’s going to end up ugly. It already is ugly.”

Tony didn’t quite know what to say. But SI had succeeded under him in part because he was a tech genius, but also because he was pretty good at snapping up smart people and putting them to work on interesting problems. “I’m not gonna argue with any of that,” he said. “But I’d ask you what we should do about it. Right now. What are things that could actually happen?”

She stared at him. “Really?”

“Really. Talk to me, Jones.”

She did. They meandered from Michelle’s proposed wealth tax to universal basic income, and eventually ended up in a prolonged debate about behavioral economics. Tony suspected that neither of them fully understood what the hell they were talking about, but that didn’t stop them from having strong opinions. 

Michelle Jones, he was quickly realizing, was _at least_ as smart as Peter, though in an entirely different way, or maybe just with entirely different interests.

They were still bickering when Peter and Ned returned, hauling a battered loveseat up the stairs. “Look what we found!” Ned said. “There’s so much stuff down there –– there are a bunch of old tables and chairs, too. Like, wrought iron.”

“They’re about five hundred pounds each,” Peter said. 

“I’ve seen the video of you stopping a bus with your bare hands, Pete,” Tony replied bemusedly. “Are you really telling me you can’t get some furniture up some stairs?”

“Four flights of stairs,” Peter grumbled. “Fine. You’d better feed me!” he threw over his shoulder as he and Ned headed back down the stairs. 

“I always do!” Tony yelled back.

He’d asked Rhodey to pick up a bunch of burgers and fries on his way back from having lunch with his sister’s family. He showed up just as they were arranging the furniture (Ned and MJ) and setting up the heat lamps (Peter and Tony). Rhodey dumped them out on the kitchen table, and the kids fell on them like a pack of ravenous dogs. 

Tony and Rhodey retreated to the living room. “I hope you weren’t hungry,” Rhodey said wryly. 

Tony shrugged. “They might leave me some fries. In the meantime, come on up,” he said, gesturing to the stairs. “I’m gonna put you to work.”

“Literally the theme of our entire friendship,” Rhodey sighed, and followed him up the stairs. 

***

New Year’s Eve was cold but not freezing, thank God. Tony wasn’t sure his heat lamps would have helped much in a blizzard. But it was in the forties during the day, dipping into the high thirties after the sun went down, and the taller buildings around the mansion provided a convenient windbreak. Tony set out wraps and throws for people to use if they got cold and set the heat lamps on their highest setting. 

The party started at seven. Peter, MJ, and Ned rolled in first, followed shortly by Happy and May. By seven-thirty, Tony was behind the bar, sipping a ginger ale and mixing drinks for other people –– a habit from his early sobriety, when for some reason bartending had made it easier _not_ to drink. 

He’d just sent Rhodey off with a patented Tony Stark Manhattan –– two kinds of Vermouth and very expensive cherries –– when Pepper and Morgan arrived. He hung back, letting Peter and May greet them first. Pepper was wearing a blue sweater with flecks of silver sparkles and dark jeans with flats; Morgan was wearing a black and purple dress that clashed slightly with her Hulk-green leggings. 

Once they’d put their things down at one of the tables, they made their way over to the bar. Morgan held her mother’s hand and peered out from behind her. 

“Happy New Year’s, Tony,” Pepper said. “It looks wonderful up here.”

“Thanks,” Tony replied. “Peter and his friends helped me get it in order. The tables and decorations were all in the basement.”

“I’d never have guessed. But I suppose I’ve never gone down there to look.”

“It didn’t look like anyone had been down there for a couple of decades,” Tony said with a shrug. “So, what can I get you? Wait, no, let me guess. Party like this... a French 75?”

“Perfect,” she said with a smile. 

“And what about you, Miss Morgan?” Tony asked, looking over the bar at her. 

She stared up at him. Tony could see her sizing him up, much as she’d done the first time she’d seen him at the lake house. She’d bolted then without saying a word. 

For a second, Tony was sure she was about to do it again. But then she glanced up at her mother, who smiled at her encouragingly, and looked back at Tony. “Can I have a Shirley Temple, please?”

“Sure thing,” he said. “Extra cherries? I’ve got the good ones.”

She brightened and nodded. 

He made both their drinks while keeping an eye on the rest of the party. Peter and his friends had settled at one of the tables and were playing around with designs for the drone display Tony had planned for midnight. Happy and May were canoodling under a throw on the loveseat Peter had dragged upstairs, and Rhodey had joined Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson at the edge of the deck, where they were chatting quietly and looking at the view of the city. 

“Here you go,” Tony said, handing Pepper and Morgan their drinks. 

“Thank you. Morgan,” Pepper said, nudging her gently. “What do you say?”

Morgan swallowed the sip she’d already taken. “Thank you... Tony.” 

“You’re very welcome,” he replied, trying not to make too big a deal out of it. “Have fun, all right?”

She nodded, then turned and scampered toward Peter and his friends. Peter pulled her onto his lap, draped a blanket across them both, and started showing her what they’d been working on on his tablet.

“That was unexpected,” Tony said to Pepper.

“I think Peter talked to her at Christmas,” Pepper replied. “I’m not sure what he said, but it seems to have made a difference.” She helped herself to a cocktail napkin and smiled at him. “Don’t hide behind the bar all night. This is your party.”

“I won’t,” Tony promised. She went to say hello to Sam, Bucky, and Rhodey. Tony poured himself a ginger ale and stepped out from behind the bar to make his rounds. 

“Mr. Stark,” Stephen Strange said. Tony startled, almost dropping his glass. He hadn’t seen him come in, and he’d been watching the door. 

“Dr. Strange,” he returned, only a little ironically. “I was surprised when I got your RSVP.”

“I was rather surprised when I received the invitation,” Strange said. “It seems as though you really have settled in here.”

Tony shrugged. “Not like I had much choice, did I? If this is where I’m going to be for the duration, I might as well make the most of it.”

“Indeed.” Strange paused. “You know, when this first happened, I was... concerned. Most people would find it difficult, if not impossible, to adjust to a universe that isn’t their own, on both a personal and a metaphysical level. Most would endure a persistent feeling of not-belonging. Given the notoriety of your counterpart in our own universe, I thought that might be especially true for you. And yet that seems not to be the case.”

“Not really, no,” Tony said. “It’s been messy and awkward at times, but I don’t feel like I don’t belong here.”

“Hmm.” Strange steepled his hands in front of his face. “Very interesting.”

“Not really,” Tony pointed out. “Boring, almost, I’d say.”

Strange smiled. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Well, as much as I’ve enjoyed this little interlude, it is a party.” Tony gestured toward the rest of the crowd. “Go. Mingle. Unnerve someone else with your riddles.”

Strange smiled again, apparently unperturbed, and made his way toward Pepper. 

Rhodey took his place almost immediately. “What was that about?” he asked, handing Tony a fresh ginger ale. 

“Nothing. Just Strange being –– _ha_ –– strange.”

“A joke I’m sure he’s never heard before,” Rhodey said wryly. “That was all? He didn’t have any... news?”

“News?” Tony repeated, puzzled. He turned to face Rhodey. “Why would he have –– oh.” Tony shook his head. “No. He didn’t come to tell me he’d miraculously found a way to send me back to my universe.”

Some tension in Rhodey’s face that Tony hadn’t previously noticed relaxed, all at once. “Okay.”

Tony looked away, taking in the scene on the rooftop at a single glance. He drew a deep breath of cool night air and turned back to Rhodey. “Honestly, though? Unless it was going to cause real harm, it would be hard to go at this point. Strange would have to drag me.”

Rhodey grinned. He slung an arm around Tony’s shoulder, pulling him close against his side. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear you say that.”

“Thanks, honeybear,” Tony said, leaning into him. 

Rhodey took a sip of the dregs of his Manhattan. “I’ve been debating whether to say this, because I don’t want it to come across as patronizing. But I want to say it anyway. I know this hasn’t been easy, but you... you _committed_ to it. To us, to this universe, to a life here. I’m so fucking proud of you, Tones.”

Tony had to swallow a couple of times before he could answer. “Thanks. Really. But if you hadn’t been so accepting when I first got here, I’m not sure I could’ve done it.” He meant it, too. If Rhodey had flinched away from him, he wouldn’t have had the courage to face anyone else. And that would have cost him so much –– an entire life he hadn’t even thought was possible. 

He spared a thought then for this universe’s Tony Stark. He felt less now like he was stepping into another man’s life and more like he was creating his own –– but he couldn’t deny that that was made possible, in so many ways, by the life his other self had built. A life that he had then sacrificed so that the rest of them could keep living. He wasn’t sure he would ever stop feeling guilty for the ways he himself had benefited from that sacrifice. 

But then again –– maybe it wasn’t really about feeling guilty. Maybe it was about feeling grateful –– to Rhodey and Peter and Pepper and May and Happy, for having let him into their lives, but also to this universe’s Tony Stark. And if that were true, then the best way for him to show that gratitude was to live his life as well and as fully as he possibly could, to his own benefit and the benefit of the people he loved, whom his counterpart had also loved. 

He still worried he might fuck things up. He’d screwed up so badly with Rhodey and Pepper in his own universe, and sometimes the way Peter seemed to just believe in him felt like a lot to live up to. But fucking things up no longer felt inevitable. 

“Hey,” Rhodey said, jostling him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and turned to press a smacking kiss to the side of Rhodey’s face. Rhodey yelped and shoved him away, before pulling him back in. Tony laughed. “Come on, let me freshen that drink up for you.”

“Sure,” Rhodey said, handing him his empty glass. “I guess we have some stuff to celebrate, after all.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, and slung his arm around Rhodey’s shoulders. “I guess we do.”

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I got a little _It's a Wonderful Life_ at the end there, but can you blame me?
> 
> I wish you all the very best in 2021. Have a safe and wonderful New Year's!

**Author's Note:**

> This is all written –– I'll post a chapter a day between now and New Year's!


End file.
